


Blackmailed

by MistressLynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Banter, Complete, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Humor, Light Dom/sub, Memory Magic, More banter, Oral Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, SO MUCH BANTER, Sexual Tension, Smut, Snark, Spanking, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering, War, War AU, degradation kink, seriously the banter dial is turned to eleven, sexy contract negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressLynn/pseuds/MistressLynn
Summary: Draco finds out something pertaining to the war that Hermione would do anything to prevent from getting out. How far is she willing to go to protect her secret?..................“One evening. For one evening I’ll do…” She took a deep breath to steel herself. “I’ll do whatever you want.”He stopped in front of her, looming over her body, close. So close that she felt his hot breath on the top of her head. Slowly, she looked up from the shirt on his chest and into his eyes. They were hooded, and darker than she remembered.“WhateverI want?” His voice was hushed and deep, and she felt it in her bones.“Yes,” she whispered, and did her best to still the fear and sick thrill of anticipation that had sparked inside her.“Alright, Granger,” he said with a smirk, and then spoke in a low voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”She had no idea what she had just agreed to.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 550
Kudos: 1044





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sportivetricks (tamlane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/gifts), [honeysweetcutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysweetcutie/gifts).



> I really admire Tamlane's writing. She said I was good at dub-con and that I should write more. So I did. If you like it, thank her!
> 
> Also gifting this to honeysweetcutie because she is an awesome writer and deserves nothing but love.
> 
> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

Hermione had been glaring down at her lap for the past hour. She couldn’t look up; if she did, she’d start screaming. She hadn’t managed much more than one word replies the entire morning, and her hands were currently balled into fists from the tension of keeping silent.

“Regardless, due to reduced attendance this year,” Snape continued in his bored, superior tone. “We don’t expect the Head duties to be especially overwhelming.” He shuffled some parchments on his desk. No. On _Dumbledore’s_ desk. “Any questions?”

She had lots of questions. None that could be asked or that would be answered truthfully in the present company.

Sitting next to her, Malfoy was silent and sullen. From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring absently in the general direction of the co-Headmasters, who occupied their separate desks. It was surreal: she felt like she was in a movie or some horrible alternate reality.

Snape and Malfoy.

 _Here_.

In the office of the man they had conspired to kill.

Not only were they not paying for their crimes, they’d actually been _lauded_ by the newly fallen Ministry for preventing Dumbledore from succeeding in an insurrection to overthrow the Minister of Magic. For the last six years, she had believed in Dumbledore’s trust in Snape and had thought that Harry was wrong about their professor. In the end, it was _she_ who had been wrong. Malfoy may have orchestrated the events of the Astronomy Tower under duress, but Snape had shown his true colours, and she hated him now. He was just as evil as the other Death Eaters.

Malfoy. He had almost killed Katie Bell and had poisoned Ron. And the consequences of his actions? Being named Head Boy. She was _furious_.

“Well then.” McGonagall stood up. Hermione saw her eye twitch, the only crack in her professor’s cold exterior. Clearly, she was not pleased with the arrangement either, but what choice did she have? “If there is nothing else to discuss, I will accompany you both to your quarters.”

The walk to the shared Head Boy and Head Girl dorm was tense and silent. McGonagall’s sharp heels clicked on the floor and echoed down the corridor. Hermione dug her fingers into her palms. For what felt like the hundredth time, she hoped that returning to Hogwarts had been the right decision. She had hated the idea of splitting off from Harry and Ron, but there was a warrant out for Undesirable Number One’s arrest. And since Harry was on the run, the trio deemed it best that Ron stay with him instead of returning to Hogwarts with Hermione. He wouldn’t be much help here anyway with what she had to do.

As they approached the shared living space, she felt stirrings of both disgust and fear at having to live with Malfoy. Logically, she knew that she had no right to complain. When she considered the situation that her former Head of House was in with Snape, she realized that things could have been _much_ worse.

“Pax,” Hermione muttered.

The door opened, and Malfoy followed her in. To her surprise, McGonagall came in as well and shut the door behind her. Hermione turned to face her, unsure as to why she had followed them in.

“Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall commanded him crisply. Malfoy didn’t answer, but kept a bored expression on his face. “If you harm one hair on Miss Granger’s head, I’ll make you wish you were still being _Crucio’d_ by your Aunt.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Malfoy blanched. Her teacher had just _threatened to torture him_.

Had that really happened to Malfoy? Bellatrix had tortured him? And how had McGonagall known?

The professor continued. “I will know if she’s been _Obliviated_. I will know if she has been _Imperiused_. You’re not as clever as you think you are.” Hermione watched the interaction, gobsmacked. McGonagall was using the familiar tone that she usually reserved for wayward students to threaten him. Somehow, she was more terrifying this way. “Threats are useless; I don’t care one fig what they do to me so long Miss Granger is not hurt in any way. _Do I make myself clear_?”

Hermione felt a surge of affection for her teacher and relief at her words. McGonagall had just ensured that she would be safe at Hogwarts. At least, until the Ministry took over, which would happen any day now. At that thought, Hermione clutched the beaded bag that never left her side, comforting herself with the assurance that she could be off grounds and in the Forest of Dean with everything she needed this very minute if she wanted.

Malfoy’s throat constricted as he struggled to form a reply. “Crystal.”

“Good.” McGonagall shifted to an obviously false cordial tone. “Now why don’t you get your things unpacked and settled in your room?”

He was being dismissed. McGonagall wanted to speak with her alone. Malfoy shifted his gaze between the two of them, shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, and belligerently sat down on the sofa.

Her professor stared down at him, visibly annoyed. By directly defying her, he was demonstrating that McGonagall didn’t have complete authority over him. And perhaps she didn’t; it was a fragile situation. They all knew her tenure as co-Headmistress was limited. The new teachers would be arriving soon, as would the implementation of the new curriculum. Snape would be the one in charge of rolling out educational reforms based on blood politics.

McGonagall sighed.

“Miss Granger,” she held out her hand to Hermione’s door. “Surely _you_ would like to unpack?”

With a sideways glance at Malfoy, who was still glaring defiantly at McGonagall, Hermione went into her room. Her professor stepped through behind her, and her heart raced as the door shut. She opened her mouth to speak, but immediately closed it when McGonagall silently shushed her with a finger to her lips.

“Just so you know, I will still be functioning as Head of House for Gryffindor…” McGonagall began to ramble about a few things which had not been mentioned in the meeting with Snape but were fairly inconsequential. As she continued to speak, she cast a nonverbal silencing spell at Hermione’s door and waved her wand around the room in a series of motions before looking pointedly at an orange glow that had revealed itself in the corner by the dresser.

Hermione’s eyes widened. What was that?

As if in answer, her teacher cast another nonverbal spell at the orange glow and rounded on her immediately.

“Now you can tell me what you need.”

Her heart rate sped up.

“Books. And not just from here. Possibly banned books.”

“Madam Pince is aware. You can trust her. What else?”

“One hour alone in Dumbledore’s office.”

She watched her professor think, tapping her index finger to her chin. “That can be arranged.” McGonagall motioned to the orange glow. “As you may have guessed, we are both being monitored. I checked earlier. Your common area is clear of eavesdropping charms – most likely because Mister Malfoy will be there. Start unpacking. Tell me about the wedding. _Finite Incantatum_.”

Hermione stuttered at first, digesting the information, but soon began to prattle on about Bill and Fleur’s wedding while she unpacked her clothing. The topic reached its end, and McGonagall performed the same nonverbal spell as before.

“What else? The castle is at your disposal.”

Hermione thought about things she would like but hadn’t been able to acquire. “Essence of Dittany, blood replenishing potions, Skele-grow, other Healing supplies for…” For what? What is it they’d be doing? “Camping. Polyjuice, or the ingredients necessary for it. Perhaps both. Veritaserum if you have it. All in unbreakable glass vials. Whatever you can spare. More Portkeys too, if you have them.” She had no idea where she, Harry, and Ron would be going, or what the boys would be doing when she joined them.

McGonagall nodded, her eyes sad. “I’ll have Poppy prepare something for you. You should be trained by her in rudimentary Healing. Filius can teach you shielding and warding spells as well while you’re here. I’ll see about the potions and some other things you may need. _Finite Incantatum_.”

McGonagall resumed talking about the new first years and reduced class sizes, transitioning to the state of O.W.L and N.E.W.T examinations before targeting the orange glow again.

“This will be the last time for now, Miss Granger. If Mister Malfoy is spying on you, he will no doubt be reporting that we conversed for this long. It will be quite difficult to arrange another private meeting between the two of us.”

Glad that she’d had the foresight to make a few more, Hermione extracted a D.A. Galleon from her bag and placed one in her professor’s hand. McGonagall looked down with a small smile, recognizing what she had been given. She curled her fingers over the Galleon and pocketed it. Glancing up to meet Hermione’s eyes, the two shared a moment to appreciate their clever defiance.

“When are they coming?” Hermione had a lot of other questions, but this was the most important one.

“Our intelligence tells us it will be within a month, but we don’t have the exact date yet. The other professors and I have prepared an evacuation plan for the few Muggle-born students that are here and the safe-houses are nearly ready. _You_ need to be prepared to leave at any time. I don’t know how much warning we will have.”

She was prepared. Hermione clutched her beaded bag again. It was becoming a security blanket of sorts.

McGonagall must have noticed how protective she was over the bag. “ _Glamour_ that. I don’t need to tell you to be discreet but, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Headmistress?”

Her old, bony hand reached out to Hermione’s. The fingers were frail, but her grip was strong. “Do be careful.”

Hermione warmed at her teacher’s concern. “You too, and thank you for...” She motioned her head in the direction of the common area, where they had left Malfoy.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “One. Hair.”

Hermione laughed despite herself, and her teacher pressed her hand warmly before dispelling the charm and leaving.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had been a tense first week of school, to say the least, but it had been the right decision to come back. After her conversations over the summer with Harry and Ron regarding Dumbledore’s memories and theories, Hermione had known precisely where to start her research when she’d arrived at the castle. Over the last few days, she had already figured out how to destroy the Horcruxes and where to retrieve the means to do so. She now had a collection of several basilisk fangs – summoned from the Chamber of Secrets with Moaning Myrtle’s help – all sitting in a pouch in her beaded bag, ready for use.

The door to the Heads’ common area slammed shut. Hermione forced herself not to jump or look up as Malfoy stalked across to the armchair from which he usually worked. Just like the couch she had been working from every day had become ‘her’ couch via an unspoken agreement, the armchair he had commandeered for his own work had become ‘his’. She peeked surreptitiously at him as he threw himself into the aforementioned armchair and dropped his satchel to the side. He looked agitated as he bent to pull out his books and parchment, setting them on the side table, but that wasn't unusual. He was _always_ agitated.

Malfoy extended his long legs out, resting them on ‘his’ footstool and opened a Potions textbook, jaw clenching and unclenching in irritation. His eyes flicked up to hers. She looked down immediately, hoping he hadn’t noticed her studying him.

She had been agitated as well. Anyone would be, had they been forced to reside in the same living quarters with this sorry excuse for a human being. In the first few days, every time she saw him, Hermione’s fingers just itched to grab her wand and hex him, consequences be damned. How she would love to hit him with an _Oppungo_. She chuckled to herself as she pictured him swatting birds away from his face. Or maybe she could make his footstool randomly explode one day. Or curse his armchair to attack him.

But no. Satisfying as hexing him would be, it would unfortunately break the tense, silent truce they seemed to have settled into as the days passed uneventfully.

He didn’t mess with her, she didn’t mess with him.

She continued to survey him, and noted once again how he'd changed over the summer: he'd gotten taller – much taller than she was – and he'd filled out somewhat, as Quidditch players often did. She had never noticed much about Malfoy before, but now that she saw him all the time in their quarters, absent of Crabbe, Goyle, or any of his other Slytherin cronies, she found herself... Noticing.

Giving herself a mental shake, Hermione returned her focus to her work. She had started a notebook where she’d listed notes from Dumbledore’s theories about Voldemort: his motivations, his psychology, and his Horcruxes. It also contained ideas that she had, flashes of inspiration, and scattered notes from the books she’d pulled from the library. She had even drawn a crude sketch of the locket that Harry and Dumbledore had found in the cave, and she’d copied the note that R.A.B. had left word for word. She didn’t _need_ the notebook to remember these things, but it helped her to brainstorm in the absence of Harry and Ron to bounce ideas off of.

She saw Malfoy stretch his long limbs in her peripheral vision, groaning as he did so and interrupting her thoughts. The stretching and contracting of his limbs showed off the contours and muscular shape of his body. She glanced over at him suspiciously, and then looked down before he noticed that she was watching him stretch. Why was he even here in the common room, anyway? Why not go off with his Slytherin friends in the library?

Was it possible that he was spying on her, like McGonagall had intimated? And if so, to what end? He hadn’t done anything to her yet. If he did bear her ill will, it appeared that McGonagall’s threat had worked.

For now.

Malfoy was a Death Eater. He might not be a killer, but he was still dangerous and unpredictable. He had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and had done it _right under Dumbledore’s nose_. She’d have to stay vigilant in his presence.

If he was under orders like last year, how far would he go to follow them?

She didn’t know. She didn’t want to find out.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Days passed under the stifling blanket of the dormitory’s quiet tension. Malfoy hadn’t spoken to her at all since McGonagall had threatened him that first day, and their common area was always strained and silent. Hermione supposed she should be thankful for that. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this was infinitely better than the worst of what she had imagined.

But it surprised her. Where was the Draco Malfoy who hadn't hesitated when insulting her looks, friends, or blood status in years past? The spoiled, childish git who'd threatened and bragged in equal measure about his father and family name? Though she remained angry with him – furious, even – the rage she had felt that first day in the Headmaster’s office had lessened in the face of his reserve, abating to a distant thrum edged with confusion and suspicion.

Across the common area from one another, they worked in silence, the only sounds being the occasional flip of a page or scratching of quill across parchment. She heard an impatient exhale of breath and glanced up from her work to see Malfoy’s eyes flick back down to his coursework. She could have sworn that he had been staring at her. And not for the first time.

She wondered what he thought of their Head Boy/Head Girl arrangement. In order to concentrate on Horcrux research and her Healing and Warding training, Hermione hadn’t gone to any classes or engaged in any Head duties. She couldn’t rightly say what the Head duties even _were_. It was uncharacteristic behavior from her and, therefore, extremely suspicious. Her cover story was that she was working on independent studies this year, but she didn’t think that anyone bought it. So far, Malfoy didn’t seem to be bothered by her lack of participation in Head Duties, and if he’d noticed that she wasn’t attending class, he didn’t mention it. She assumed that if he really needed her for administrative business, he’d tell her. But he hadn’t, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask.

As she looked at him, Hermione noticed that his lips had pursed when he’d paused his writing, looking back between his textbook and the parchment, perhaps thinking about how best to phrase his thoughts. She watched as he brought his thumb up to his mouth and licked it with his pink tongue before reaching to another textbook and flipping the page.

She pondered what she really knew about him and what these few weeks with him meant, if anything. She still didn’t know what his intentions towards her were. Was he spying, or was he simply back for an irregular seventh year?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A few days later, Hermione stood in the small dorm kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. She mentally reviewed Madam Pomfrey's latest lesson, a suturing incantation for shallow wounds. As her fingers mimicked the proper wand movement, her eyes slid across the common area, pausing on where Malfoy sat, parchment in front of him. He paused in his writing, dipping his quill in his inkwell and tapping the excess off. His hair fell loosely in front of his eyes, and she followed the lines of his jaw to his cheekbones. He had rolled his sleeves up, and she watched the muscles of his forearms flex as he committed thought to parchment.

As her gaze fell to his hands, she shook herself and resumed practicing the suturing charm. As she mumbled the incantation, Malfoy stretched his limbs. Her eyes were once again drawn to the movement.

And there it was: the Dark Mark.

She had known that he had one, but knowing in abstract and seeing in reality were two very different things. Hermione felt a wave of visceral disgust: her limbs felt chilled, and the taste of bile was strong on her tongue.

She had never seen the Mark before, let alone _his,_ and she stared at the inside of his forearm with morbid curiosity. It rippled with the movements of Malfoy’s muscles as he stretched. In a detached way, she was fascinated at the stark contrast of the brand against the paleness of his skin.

The snake coming out of the skull was almost… Phallic.

At that thought, she registered that Malfoy’s arm was no longer moving. She belatedly realized that she had been staring for quite a long time, quietly ensconced in her thoughts, and quickly looked up. Malfoy had noticed her gaze and was staring right back at her with piercing grey eyes.

A jolt of fear ran down her spine. She’d never looked at him directly in the eyes like that. Not recently, anyway. He continued to stare at her. Something seemed to surface in his eyes – perhaps defiance – before they hardened. He drew his brows together slowly.

Blushing, she glanced down and busied herself with making her tea. Hermione chastised herself for feeling embarrassed; why should she be the one who felt skittish and awkward about noticing his Mark? And anyways, it wasn’t like it was the first time he had caught her staring. He knew she had been. There was nothing _else_ to bloody look at in their common room. She had stared at his shoulders beneath his school uniform. At his long, muscular legs when he stretched. At his face. At his tongue. And now, at his Dark Mark.

She supposed it was a mixture of curiosity and the fact that there wasn’t much else to do here. They were still existing in stilted silence, but had nonetheless fallen into a routine that allowed each the maximum amount of space with the minimum amount of contact with one another. As the days passed, her angry confusion had turned to outright curiosity: aside from the never ending silence, Malfoy had treated her almost politely from the first. Puzzled, she found herself glancing his way more often. That and, well… A small part of her supposed that he _was_ rather good looking. Much as she was loath to admit.

She took comfort in the thought that she had caught him staring at her as well. Multiple times. Especially any time she bent over or stretched to reach something in the kitchenette. Like her, he had tried to hide his gaze.

But this was different. It was the first time that there was _mutual acknowledgment,_ albeit unspoken, of the fact that she had been staring at him.

Feeling heavily disconcerted, she retreated to her couch with her tea. She set it down on the coffee table, opened her book, and stared at the page. She could still taste the acidic remains of her disgust, but it was tempered by a strong swell of frustrated interest. He hadn’t done anything, hadn’t even sneered at her or called her a Mudblood. Was he biding his time, or was he harmless?

Like a moth drawn to a flame, she flicked her eyes back to Malfoy. He had rolled down his sleeves. Perhaps he was embarrassed that she had seen his Dark Mark.

He must have sensed her eyes on him again, but she managed to lower hers just in time. Hermione thought she saw him smirk, but she _certainly_ wasn’t going to check.

McGonagall had told her that if she felt threatened by him in any way, she could move to Gryffindor Tower. But so far, nothing had happened. Malfoy left her alone, didn’t talk to her, and had the decency to hide the fact that he stared at her every so often.

She did exactly the same.

The silence, while grating, was preferable to other scenarios she had envisioned.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The silence between them didn’t last much longer.

She was poring over a book of known and rumored historical artifacts of the Four Founders when Malfoy emerged from his room, sweaty from flying, in just a towel wrapped around his hips. Her eyes widened as his naked chest and torso came into her line of sight. He padded across the common area to their shared bathroom as if nothing was amiss.

Feeling flustered she burst out, “You can’t just walk around half-naked in our common area!”

Malfoy’s hand paused on the bathroom doorknob, and he turned to face her, his grey eyes focused on her hazel ones. She felt a thrill pass through her as they made direct eye contact for the second time in as many days. The prat really did have beautiful eyes. She couldn’t deny it, though she wanted to.

Death Eater. Prat. It didn’t matter what the hell his eyes looked like. Hermione instantly regretted saying anything. It was clear that he had done this on purpose to get a reaction. Without thinking, she had given him one.

Slowly, his body turned toward her and he walked closer, clad only in his towel. She felt _extremely_ uncomfortable as he neared, taking up more of her vision, crowding her personal space. There was no safe place to look, but she couldn’t look away; that would be cowardly, and he would win whatever game he was playing. And she couldn’t look down because then she’d be ogling his body and, again, he would win. All she could do was look into those intense grey eyes of his. Somehow, it _still_ felt like he was winning.

She was sitting, he was standing, and her face was at the level of his… Well. Hermione didn’t like their positions, but if she stood up she’d be even closer to him and his naked chest. She could already smell him in all his sweaty, masculine glory, and the scent was causing her stomach to perform unwanted little flips. Her heart was thudding in her chest from his proximity.

What the _hell_ was he doing?

She swallowed the lump in her throat as he towered over her: pale, sweaty, half-naked, and completely at ease with the display of his lean, muscled body to her. Malfoy was fit, and he knew it. Even in her peripheral vision, she could see the V of his abdomen half hidden by the towel. _Merlin_. There was an angry red scar across his chest – probably from when Harry had cursed him last year.

His eyebrows raised in mock query. “Why not?”

She struggled not to let her eyes flick to his Dark Mark, a reminder that even if he’d refused to kill, he was still dangerous. He tilted his forearm, as if daring her to look at it. Daring her to say something.

Was he _threatening_ her? She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Because this is a working area and it requires a certain level of professionalism,” she answered, proud that she kept her voice steady. That her eyes hadn’t drifted elsewhere. “You have your room and the loo to use as your own personal nudist colony.”

“Mmmm,” was his non-committal reply.

He looked down into her eyes for a few seconds, clearly amused, and shifted his gaze to her books and what she had been writing in her notebook. Her chest tightened with a rush of terror.

_Bollocks!_

She had several books on the Founding Four open on the table and had been writing in her notebook about potential artifacts that Voldemort could have made into Horcruxes. Winning whatever _game_ Malfoy was playing was far less important than concealing her mission with Ron and Harry. She allowed herself to show how uncomfortable his presence made her – it was a good excuse to get herself and her research the hell out of his line of sight – and gathered up her materials.

“Professionalism, Malfoy,” she repeated, cradling her books in her arms.

There, her voice sounded stern that time. Even disdainful. She stood up to go back to her bedroom, far closer to his half-naked body than she wanted to be. He raised an eyebrow at her and didn’t move out of her way, forcing her to brush against his chest as she walked past him. She could feel him watching her backside as she closed her bedroom door.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but she had to consider that Malfoy had approached her on purpose yesterday. Not just to make her uncomfortable, but also to see what she’d been researching. She hadn’t been doing any research in the library because she’d be too exposed there, and Malfoy had always left her alone in the common room, not seeming to care what she was reading or working on. However, things had changed since he had quite possibly seen what she had been writing. Even though he couldn’t possibly understand why her work was so important, if he was reporting on her activities, Voldemort would understand what she was after. Malfoy knowing about her research into the Founders’ artifacts was a disaster to the future of the war.

She considered _Obliviating_ him but didn’t know if he had actually seen anything. And maybe he _had_ only wanted to make her uncomfortable, with no ulterior motive. Aside from that, she’d have to figure out how to catch him unawares long enough to not botch the spell. If she failed, she didn’t know how he would react, but he would certainly be angry. Maybe even angry enough to attack her. She needed time to remove his memory properly.

In the meantime, Hermione needed a solution that would allow her to keep working. She couldn’t adequately do research in her bedroom, so instead she _Glamoured_ the books she had taken out of the library and, of course, her notebook. Despite her added precautions, Malfoy hadn’t approached her again. But she knew she couldn’t become complacent. She didn’t know what his role was in this war, or what he was capable of. She had no idea what was going on in his head or what he was thinking.

One thing that _was_ obvious, regardless of his motivation, was that he was messing with her. Instead of changing in his room or their shared bathroom like a normal, _decent_ human being, he had taken to walking back and forth in his towel every time he had to shower. She didn’t know what she hated more: Malfoy, all masculine and sweaty from Quidditch, or Malfoy, fresh and clean from the shower, dripping water and smelling pleasantly of pine.

At first, she had closed her eyes when he emerged from his room, nude but for the scrap of cloth that was much too small for her comfort. Quickly, she realized that this was irresponsible; he could easily summon her work or steal something if she wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. She resigned herself to having to endure his blatant attempts to goad her, regardless of how flustered and embarrassed they made her feel. So long as he stayed away from her Horcrux research, she didn’t say anything and hoped the situation wouldn’t escalate further.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The situation did escalate.

Malfoy exited the loo for the umpteenth time, towel wrapped around his torso and smelling like whatever hormone producing concoction he showered with. Hermione fought the blush stealing across her cheeks. Why did she have this same reaction every single time? How had she not become used to him yet? Despite her efforts at nonchalance, she was sure that he knew that she struggled not to look at him. This time, instead of continuing on to his bedroom, he stopped in their kitchenette. She abandoned her attempts at stealth and watched him fill a glass of water.

“Thirsty?” he asked in a low voice.

He leaned against the counter, supporting himself with his forearm. He locked eyes with her and sipped from his glass. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he placed the cup down on the counter with a clink. She watched his mouth as his tongue flicked across his lower lip, catching an errant droplet of water.

Why, oh why, was he so damned good looking?

Hermione put her quill down. She’d had enough of his games. It was time for some Gryffindor directness to put an end to all this.

“Thirsty for what?” she countered. “Water? Or you?”

He raised his eyebrows, likely in surprise that she’d dare call him out like that. “Would you prefer something… Harder?”

She huffed. “No, thanks, I’m not interested in hard things. Drinks or otherwise.” That earned her a soft laugh. “Just my evening tea.”

“You’re funny, Granger.”

He sounded surprised, like he was re-evaluating her. As if he would know a sense of humor if it tap danced in front of him. Well, maybe he’d notice if it were tap dancing half-naked, wrapped in a towel in front of him.

“Mmmm,” she replied, hoping he would get the hint that she had no interest in talking to him.

She turned back to her notebook. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was still fiddling about in the kitchen with that horrible towel looking like it was ready to fall off at any moment. She was almost tempted to perform a nonverbal spell and make it fall; that would teach him to prance around half-naked. But then, he’d be _fully_ naked. He probably wouldn’t be embarrassed by that in the least. He’d just walk around her with his… _Thing_ on display. Hermione rubbed her cheek in frustration and flipped the page of one of her books.

After a few moments, Malfoy started walking over in her direction. She made sure the glamours on her research were in place before he reached her. To her surprise, he sat down beside her on the couch and placed two cups of tea on the coffee table before them. As he summoned spoons and napkins, she stared in disbelief. Hermione didn’t know what horrified her more: the fact that Draco Malfoy, of all people, had made her tea, or that he now sat sprawled on the couch next to her, legs spread and the towel partially open.

She chanced a glance down and caught a glimpse of a muscled thigh through the V of the opening in the towel. If she changed her vantage point, she’d be able to look straight up and see his _bits_ _!_ His behavior was so irritatingly perverse, and she knew that he was doing it on purpose. Hopefully he thought that she was staring at the teacups instead of at his muscular legs, imagining what she couldn’t see.

“You made me tea.”

It wasn’t a question, but a fact stated in disbelief. She couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing.

“Sugar? Milk?” Conjuring both, he ignored her incredulity as she turned to look up at him. He had an amused smirk on his lips.

She wasn’t going to avoid how odd this all was. Derision and bigotry for the first four years that she had known him. Hounding the D.A. via his participation on the Inquisitorial Squad in fifth year. Collusion with Death Eaters last year. Now she was supposed to believe that he was past all that and wanted to, what? Be nice to her? _Seduce_ her? What the hell was this?

“Draco Pureblood Elitist Malfoy made – no, wait – _served_ Hermione Muggle-born Granger tea.”

“Apparently so,” he answered in a tone that was too familiar for her liking.

She narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t giving away anything through his vocal tone or facial expression. His bright grey eyes remained slightly flirtatious and... Curious.

She could hear Mad-Eye Moody’s warnings about drinks resonating loudly in her head. Was he trying to slip her a potion? If he were spying on her, the situation would make more sense. She hadn’t attended a single class or performed any of the mandatory Head duties; she would be suspicious of her presence as well if she were him. Was he trying to get her to let her guard down in order to find out what she was doing back at Hogwarts?

She looked at the tea cups. If he was trying to slip her something, she guessed that it would knock her out so that he could look at her work without her knowing. Or maybe Veritaserum to get her to talk before she fled to her room. In any case, if he was trying to drug her, it would be because he thought there was good reason to after what he had seen in her notebook a few days ago.

But slipping her something would be too obvious. Wouldn’t it?

Hermione made a decision. She had to _Obliviate_ him, and this was the perfect opportunity. She would switch the cups so that he drank the presumably spiked tea. Assuming there was some kind of incapacitating potion in the brew, she could cast on him while he was knocked out.

“Can you at least get dressed?” That would send him back to his room so she could make the switch, and make her less uncomfortable.

He smirked. “Only because you begged.”

Hermione scoffed. “I did not _beg_.”

Malfoy sauntered back to his room. Hermione saw the towel drop right before he closed his door, revealing his pale arse for a half-second.

 _Merlin_. She brushed aside her warring feelings of frustration and whatever had sparked low in her gut.

Quickly, she picked up her tea and sniffed it. She couldn’t smell anything aside from the chamomile. She ran her wand over the tea a few times – no Calming Draught, no Dreamless Sleep, no Veritaserum – but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Those were simply the potions that she supposed she would employ if she were in his position. Taking a wild guess, she waved her wand and checked for Amortentia. Nothing. She gnawed on her lip in thought and then switched their cups. Whatever he spiked her tea with, he’d be the one drinking it.

She pursed her mouth in thought, still uneasy with the situation. She packed her notebook and other library books away into her beaded bag and placed it inside her room where it was protected by the password entry and her wards. Whatever was going to happen with this tea, at least her research was safe from his prying eyes.

She was back on the couch, stirring sugar into her tea with what she hoped was convincing disinterest when Malfoy came out of his room, clothed in dark green pajama trousers and no shirt. She rolled her eyes. The man had no shame.

“Shirt?” she asked impatiently.

“No, thanks,” he replied lightly. He sat next to her on the couch, facing his torso towards her and draping one arm over the back cushion. His Dark Mark was on full display, taunting her. Threatening her. What a prick he was. If she weren’t so anxious to see him drink the tea, she would have left for her room. He was up to something and she didn’t know what or why.

She brought the tea close to her mouth and blew the steam away, trying to cool it a bit. She tried not to watch him as he reached for his own cup on the table. If he noticed that she had swapped the cups, he didn’t let on. She kept her eyes forward, trying not to show how anxious she was for him to drink the sodding tea. She took a slow sip of her own and swallowed, showing him that she was drinking, and then turned to face him.

He held the cup to his mouth but did not lift it to drink. His eyes were fixed on hers. They weren’t flirtatious anymore, but were instead cold and calculating. Did he notice that she had swapped the cups? She stared back, unwavering, and took a long, slow sip in challenge. She swallowed. After a few seconds, the corner of his mouth lifted, and he, too, took a sip. She watched him swallow, and they stared at one another for a few seconds more. Some of his hair had dried. A few strands had come forward to fan over his brow, while the rest was still damp and slicked back from his shower.

She took another slow sip. “So, what’s this about, Malfoy?”

His tone was slightly scolding. “You’re not going to thank me for the tea?”

“Thank you for the tea.” She blinked at him. “So, what’s this about, Malfoy?”

He chuckled in reply. “You’re not one to beat around the bush.”

“You’re not one to answer questions.” The man was as slippery as an eel.

He extended the index finger curled around his cup and pointed it at her. “Touche.”

He stared at her over the rim of his cup and took another long sip, eyes never straying from her face. His gaze was unsettling, and Hermione felt her stomach flutter. She didn’t think she could ever look at these teacups in the same way again.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?”

“I’d prefer to do other things with you all night,” he replied enticingly.

Her throat constricted as her eyes flickered down to his bare chest, to his abdomen, to his… She wasn’t used to being flirted with so blatantly.

“That’s all this is? Sex?”

He licked his lips, and her eyes followed the movement of his tongue. “What else did you think it was?”

Espionage? Harm to her person or to her friends? There was a war going on. The balance of power at Hogwarts could change any day, and they were on opposing sides.

“I have no idea,” she answered. “But I don’t believe for one minute that you’d dare sully yourself with a Muggle-born.”

He leaned in closer and she struggled to keep her breathing even. “Maybe I _want_ to be sullied.”

_Too close!_

She blushed from his proximity and his heated gaze. Sod it all! She wasn’t supposed to have to worry about Draco _fucking_ Malfoy _flirting_ with her. She was supposed to be beneath him. She was supposed to repulse him. It appeared that he took the view that Muggle-borns could be used for sex, if nothing else.

She curled her lip in disgust. He was repulsive.

Why couldn’t some other Death Eater spawn have been Head Boy? Someone less attractive? Someone less interested in her? She never thought she’d see the day where she would prefer to room with someone who thought her blood status made her too filthy to touch.

Hermione’s discomfort was rising, and she desperately wanted to escape this conversation. The only reason she was still here talking with him was to see if he exhibited any potion-induced effects from the switched tea cups. She didn’t know how long she would have to wait though. That would depend entirely on the dosage and the content of the potion, and she didn’t know either one of those details.

He studied her face while she took another sip and asked with a smile, “Did you think I slipped something in your tea?”

Immediately she sputtered, coughing, and had to put her teacup on the coffee table so that she wouldn’t spill it on herself. After regaining her composure and wiping her mouth with the napkin that he calmly held out to her, she looked up to see him observing her with amused interest. He must have noticed that she’d swapped the cups. She saw the gears turning in his head as he took another slow, measured sip. He wasn’t worried about her swapping the teacups. Which could mean that he had anticipated that she would have been paranoid enough to do so and spiked his own instead. But that would have been presumptuous, quite a gamble.

He spoke, as if continuing her thoughts. “Perhaps I spiked both cups and took an antidote in my room.”

 _Inconceivable_ _!*_

She sucked in a breath. Which potion would that even work with? Dreamless Sleep? Sometimes people overdosed and had to be treated.

“Did you?”

He tsked at her. “Are you always this paranoid, Granger? Sometimes tea is just tea.”

She hated the way he danced around their situation. Pretending there was no war and that they weren’t on opposing sides of it. “You’d given me no indication until a few days ago that you had even the slightest interest in me. Are you spying on me? Do you think sex will get you information?”

His eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead. Clearly, he wasn’t used to this much directness. It unsettled him.

_Good._

“Will it?” he asked curiously.

She cursed inwardly. Had she just inadvertently let him know that there was something to spy _on_? But that was obvious already, with her here at school yet not doing anything having to _do_ with school. Wasn’t it? Her cover story wasn’t believable. _She_ certainly wouldn’t have believed it, and he was an intelligent Slytherin. As slick and slimy as they came.

“Enough, Malfoy,” she said, angry with herself. “ _What do you want_?”

He stretched his long limbs with a groan, pushing his bare foot against her calf as he did so. She scowled at his intrusive appendage. Reaching upwards, he looked at the ceiling and then back to her, contemplating his reply as he contracted his limbs.

“I’m bored, waiting for the axe to fall.” He eyed her chest and her legs. “You’re sexy. It’s that simple.”

Hermione stared at him. They were all waiting for the axe to fall here at Hogwarts. But she didn’t believe for a second that it was his only motivation.

Regardless, if there was no potion effect to observe, she didn’t have to be in his company anymore. He wasn’t forthcoming about _anything._ She didn’t have the patience to pry more out of him and was afraid of what she’d do if she spent more time next to his half-naked body. If she _had_ ingested something, she didn’t want to be around him when the potion started manifesting itself. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him anymore, and she sure as hell couldn’t deny that he was dangerous.

She set her teacup on the coffee table with a clink and walked back to her room.

“Good night, Malfoy,” she said. She almost wished there was something in the tea to make that whole ordeal worthwhile.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

There was nothing in the tea.

But that didn’t mean anything. Not knowing what Malfoy was up to when he was so obviously up to _something_ was making Hermione nervous. Over the next few days, she left their common room to work in the library, despite there being more of a danger that her research would be noticed by someone. When they did cross paths in the common room, he kept staring at her, overtly leering sometimes, and forcing her to avert her eyes from his intensity. He wasn’t even trying to hide his appreciation for her legs, her arse, or her breasts. His blatant interest made her feel exposed, naked, and vulnerable. The library provided a welcome respite.

She didn’t know what the ‘tea incident’ was supposed to achieve. Malfoy had admitted that he was trying to seduce her, but she didn’t understand _why_. She wasn’t the only attractive woman at Hogwarts. There must be an ulterior motive aside from being _bored_. He was a Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake. She was Muggle-born and working with the Order of the Phoenix, although he might not know that. Perhaps the purpose of the tea incident was to show her that there _was_ no ulterior motive. Perhaps he knew that she would have suspected he’d spike the tea. When it became obvious that he didn’t, maybe he thought she’d let her guard down.

Or maybe the tea incident was designed to put her more on edge.

Hermione rubbed her forehead in frustration. She could go in these circles of logic for hours. What she needed was _sleep_. Until last year, she wouldn’t have thought Malfoy capable of much beyond taunting or hexing behind the safety of Crabbe and Goyle. However, sixth year had shown him to be quite devious, patient, and calculating, even if his actions were coerced by the threat to his life and those of his parents.

She couldn’t underestimate him.

Looking up, she found the biography of Rowena Ravenclaw that she had been looking for and summoned it from the top shelf. Hermione was fairly certain that she had identified a few of the different objects Voldemort had used as Horcruxes, but she didn’t know where the objects were. She was also fairly certain that he would have wanted to use Godric’s sword, but per McGonagall’s promise, Hermione had inspected it when Snape was away and found that it had not been tampered with. In the wake of this disappointment, Hermione had thrown herself into her research with a renewed resolve. Exhausted, she walked back to her table and what she found nearly made her faint.

It was empty.

Her beaded bag, _and everything in it_ , was gone.

The Portkey for when she had to evacuate Hogwarts, her notebook about the Horcruxes, the basilisk fangs, her camping supplies, the Healing supplies, the potions ingredients, the ready-made Polyjuice potion that Professor McGonagall had secured for her, the copy of The Tales of Beetle the Bard that Dumbledore had left her, her Muggle money and her Wizarding money.

All gone.

How could she be so careless?!

It must have been from force of habit. In the Heads’ common room, she packed everything up, safely tucked away in her room or on her person _at all times,_ even when she used the loo, so as to prevent Malfoy from knowing what she was doing. In the library, she was used to leaving her work out on the table if she had to leave for a few minutes. She looked around, feeling panicked. There were some third years a few tables away, but no one else was in her section. She walked over to them and asked who had been at her table. They hadn’t seen anyone.

She tried summoning her bag, pointing at various directions in the library.

Nothing.

She felt the blood rushing to her head as panic overtook her.

Trying to contain her alarm internally so no one would realize something was wrong, she walked methodically around the library to see who else was studying. Specifically, she looked for late year Slytherins. There were a few, but they didn’t seem excited or conspiratorial. They were quiet, each ensconced in their own homework. Hoping against hope, she tried summoning her bag again from the direction of their table.

Nothing.

Biting her lip, she discreetly shot several _Finite’s_ in their direction to see if anything disillusioned or shrunken would appear or enlarge.

Her heart sank. _Nothing._

She walked quickly, row by row, combing the entire library while her heart thudded in her chest, chastising herself for being so stupid. She summoned. She moved stacks of books so that she could look behind them. She checked under tables, on chairs, and in corners. She cast _Finite’s_. Every time she passed a table with someone studying, she checked for her bag. Even the first years.

Nothing, nothing, _nothing_.

Before she knew it, the library was closing. Nodding to Hermione on the way to the exit, Madam Pince locked the doors, allowing her to stay as long as she wanted. Hermione left no corner untouched in her tireless search of the cavernous room.

At two in the morning, she was forced to concede that it wasn’t here.

Someone had stolen her beaded bag.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next morning, Hermione woke up late. She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning fitfully. Panicked, angry tears streaked down her face when she awoke. She was furious with herself and didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know where to _start_.

No one who had been in the library with her last night had taken her bag. She had no idea who, then, had swiped it. Aside from the fact that she was now royally _fucked_ , if it fell into the wrong hands and the charms disguising the information in her notebook were dispelled, everything she, Harry, and Ron knew or suspected about their Horcrux mission would be compromised.

 _Everything_.

Voldemort would know they were after his Horcruxes, and the war would be lost.

Steeling herself with a shake, she wiped her eyes and quickly dressed, thinking back to the older Slytherins who had been in the library last night, albeit in a different section than she was. Nott, Parkinson, and Zabini. Nott and Parkinson each had fathers that were active Death Eaters. They would be the most likely suspects. As Head girl, Hermione could go into the Slytherin dorms and corner them. Maybe she could go while they were in class and search their dorms. She groaned inwardly. What a mess this was.

She emerged from her bedroom and stood in the Heads’ common room, barely noticing Malfoy perched in the corner. She tried summoning her bag just in case Malfoy had it for some reason, but nothing was produced by her spell. She exhaled in frustration.

She was just so _angry_ with herself.

Hermione finally looked over at Malfoy where he was studying in his armchair, long legs extended over his footstool. His sleeves were rolled up so that she could see his Dark Mark. His tie was loose, and the top button of his white shirt was undone. He hadn’t been in the library last night. However, despite witnessing her furiously casting summoning charms in their common room a few moments ago, he had remained silent. Not even making eye contact. It was a stark change from the heated gazes he had been directing her way recently.

Instantly, she became suspicious.

She watched as he distractedly moved the feather of his quill back and forth across his lips in gentle motions as he read from his potions textbook. By now, he must have known that she was staring at him, but he _still_ didn’t look up. Not even to leer at her. Yes, even if she hadn’t seen him in the library, she was certain that he’d had something to do with her bag’s disappearance. The change in his behavior was too coincidental.

“Okay Malfoy, where is it?” she snarled at him.

He didn’t pause the movement of the quill across his lips, but his grey eyes flicked up to her. A small smile appeared behind the feather.

“Care to be more specific?”

Malfoy had been expecting this. He knew _exactly_ what she was talking about. She could see it in his smug expression.

“You swiped my bag!” she yelled and stomped her foot. “I want it back!”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Why would I take your bag?”

She’d had enough of his evasions and non-answers.

Hermione pulled her wand, but he was quicker and had already drawn. By the time she cast a nonverbal disarming spell, he had countered with a nonverbal shield. The yellow light reflected back towards her. She dispelled it with a flick of her wrist, and it careened off into the ground. Her heart thudded in her chest from the rush of adrenaline. Malfoy looked at her, the cold, calculating gaze returning to his face.

“Even if you beat me in a duel, you won’t force me to give it to you.”

Finally, an admission that he had it. That was progress.

“Won’t I?” she threatened, wand still raised. “How the _hell_ do you know what I’ll do, Malfoy?”

“Are you in the habit of using Unforgivables?” he asked flippantly. Apparently unruffled by her menacing tone, he twirled his wand in his fingers. His posture was downright casual.

Hermione flinched, heart racing faster _._ She considered him, sitting there so calmly at the end of her wand point. She didn’t hate him, so the Cruciatus wouldn’t work. She didn’t have it in her to cast it, anyway. She could Imperius him; that didn’t require hatred. But _would_ she? He watched her mull his question over and his smirk widened, as if he knew the answer before she did. Use of the Imperius would land her in Azkaban. She didn’t know if she’d be forgiven for a war crime, even if it would ensure the secrecy and success of their mission, and ultimately, the end of the war.

Merlin. She wanted to throttle him. She wanted to smack him. She wanted to hex him. She wanted to _hurt_ him. But none of that would be enough to make him give her back her bag. As McGonagall had already pointed out, he had suffered much worse.

“Give it _back_ , Malfoy!” she growled at him, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest.

He didn’t immediately respond, but continued to idly twirl his wand with his fingers.

“No,” he finally replied, watching her with amusement.

God _fucking_ dammit!

She had no leverage. If she wasn’t willing to hex him with anything painful enough to force him into submission, then he simply wouldn’t return it. She had nothing to force him _with_. She stomped her foot in frustration again and let out a shriek.

He _chuckled_.

The slimy little _shit_ , sitting in his armchair, had the _audacity_ to chuckle at her.

She didn’t know what he knew, but the longer he had her bag, the more likely it was that he’d get past the charms on her notebook - if he hadn’t already done so. She had to prevent that from happening, and if she couldn’t… She’d have to Obliviate him after she got it back.

But what else could she do to get it back, if force was out of the question? Maybe there was another way. He must want something from her. He wouldn’t have revealed that he had her bag otherwise. He would have simply passed on the knowledge elsewhere. But what could he possibly want from her?

“Give. It. Back.” She still had her wand out, pointed at him. “Please.”

He snapped his book closed, tossed it to the side, and stood. He made a show of placing his wand on the nearby end table and walked closer to her, taunting her in that he knew she wouldn’t hex him. There was no point. She lowered her wand in defeat and exhaled harshly. She wanted to punch him. It was third year all over again.

He closed in on her, and in that moment, she hated their height differential. He used it to intimidate her while he spoke. “You won’t torture me, and you won’t compel me. So why would I? What could you _possibly_ have that I would want in exchange?”

Yes, it was as she thought. He was offering her a trade. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels while she thought through his question. What _did_ she have that he would want? Information? Like hell she would give him information.

 _Nothing!_ She had _nothing_ to leverage. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to scream.

Well.

Nothing except _that_.

According to the tea incident, he wanted to have sex with her. Would she sleep with him to get her bag back?

Yes. Yes, she would. It was a war. They had to defeat Voldemort. She didn’t even need to think about it. Of course she would. She considered briefly what Harry and Ron would think. More specifically, about how Ron would react. Mentally shaking herself, she pushed those thoughts aside. It didn’t _matter_ what they thought, or what anyone thought. This was necessary. It had to be done.

He watched the emotions playing across her face with a lascivious smile.

“I’ll have sex with you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. His face betrayed nothing; if he was surprised at her offer, she couldn’t tell. “And then you have to return my bag to me and allow yourself and anyone else who has seen the contents of it to be _Obliviated_.”

“ _Obliviation_?” He gave a low whistle. “Messing around in my head? The price just got higher, Granger.”

Hermione looked at him questioningly. “What else would you want besides sex?”

She’d thought she had him figured out. She’d thought she’d get everything back. _Now_ what?

This clusterfuck of a situation was rapidly spiraling even further out of control, and she felt her panic rising. If he had her bag for much longer, he would dispel the charms on her notebook. He would find out about the Horcruxes. He would tell Voldemort. They would all die.

_What the fuck did he want?_

He approached and, instead of stopping in front of her, circled her in appraisal. She flushed under the heat of his gaze as his footfalls padded the floor around her. His leisurely perusal of her body made something low in her stomach twist. Hermione ignored the feeling, trying not to think about what it meant. She had to focus on the situation at hand.

“Be creative. Make it worth my while.”

She was going to scream. She didn’t have _time_ for this!

What an arrogant, smug bastard. Creative? All she knew was that she had offered to have sex with him, and it wasn’t good enough. What _else_ did he want? She had to do _something_ to please him.

To _please_ him.

Maybe he already knew what he wanted. She threw the offer back at him.

“One evening. For one evening I’ll do…” She took a deep breath to steel herself. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

 _Dammit!_ She needed her bag. Now.

Come on Malfoy, you _sodding_ prick.

He stopped in front of her, looming over her body, close. So close that she felt his hot breath on the top of her head. Slowly, she looked up from the shirt on his chest and into his eyes. They were hooded, and darker than she remembered.

“What _ever_ I want?” His voice was hushed and deep, and she felt it in her bones.

“Yes,” she whispered, and did her best to still the fear and sick thrill of anticipation that had sparked inside her.

“Alright, Granger,” he said with a smirk, and then spoke in a low voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

_Fuck._

She had no idea what she had just agreed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Inconceivable! But yes, this is a throwback to the Iocane powder scene in the Princess Bride.
> 
> A big thank you to my betas: GeriatricPeepshow (who also alpha'd the heck out of this fic) and Misdemeanor1331. They have so much patience and great ideas!
> 
> This story is finished, I am posting updates as I make corrections. Hopefully weekly.


	2. Chapter 2

After making the deal with Malfoy, Hermione had stayed awake for hours. She’d barely dozed, twisting and turning in her sheets, sensitized to each slip of the cotton over her heated skin. She didn’t know what he would do to her. She didn’t know what her vague promise had entailed. He had told her to be creative, and she had left the details entirely up to him and his deviant imagination. She was nervous, she was anxious, and she desperately tried to ignore the thick, hot coil of desire building between her legs.

She castigated herself for feeling anything other than revulsion about the agreement, rationalizing to herself that it must be the adrenaline provoking a hormonal response. Yes, that had to be it. It had nothing to do with him; after all, she had feelings for Ron, and he and Malfoy couldn’t be any more different. In any case, she _needed_ to impose some limits before this started. Some restrictions. Some rules.

After a quick shower at the crack of dawn, Hermione dressed, made a pot of coffee, and worked on drawing up a contract on the kitchenette counter. She thought about what limitations she could finagle out of her slimy Slytherin roommate, and what consequences would be terrible enough to force him to comply. Hermione wished Crookshanks were with her instead of at the Burrow. She’d sic him on Malfoy.

After some thought, she charmed the parchment, much as she had the list of names of Dumbledore’s Army in fifth year. The cost for breaking _this_ contract was harsher. She sipped her coffee. _Much_ harsher. She hoped Malfoy would even agree to sign it.

She was willing to do anything to prevent knowledge of the Horcrux hunt from reaching Voldemort. And certainly, whatever happened between her and Malfoy would be preferable to a stint in Azkaban caused by her using an Unforgivable. But if she could negotiate terms before they started, the evening would be less traumatic.

She swallowed. _What did he want to do with her?_

She studied the parchment, confident that the preventative hex would work, and jumped when she heard Malfoy’s door creak open. He stretched, grabbing the door frame above him and giving her an eyeful as he did so. He was clad only in green silk boxers.

Dropping his arms, Malfoy walked over to the kitchenette and stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder to look down at the parchment. Her entire backside came to life from the heat of his body. He wasn’t pressing against her, but she felt him brush lightly against her back, rear, and legs.

“What’s this?” His breath tickled her ear. Hermione shivered.

“A contract,” she answered, trying to sound unaffected from his nearness and state of undress. “I want to ensure that I can _Obliviate_ you and whoever has seen the notebook of all memories pertaining to—”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I haven’t shown anyone.”

She turned around, facing his bare chest before looking up at him defiantly. “Then it will be easier for you to comply with the terms of the agreement.”

Malfoy reached behind her and picked up the parchment, scanning what she had written with interest. “You want me to sign this?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to get pimples that spell ‘Insufferable prat’ if I refuse to be _Obliviated_?” He smirked, pointedly referencing what she’d done to Marietta Edgecomb in fifth year. “I’m not sure I have the real estate on my forehead for all those letters.”

A brief feeling of relief washed over her. If he was still being flippant, he hadn’t yet broken the charms on her notebook. Maybe he hadn’t realized there were any. He didn’t understand the value of what he held in his possession.

Yet.

Hopefully they could finish this tonight before that changed.

Hermione held his amused gaze for a few seconds before replying. “No. You’ll develop gangrene on your genitals.”

She watched his smug smile fall with a sense of satisfaction. “You’re serious,” he replied.

She would have laughed at his horrified expression if the situation weren’t so dire. She ground her teeth in frustration. “I’m not fucking around, Malfoy.”

He stared at her in shock for a few moments. “Fucking hell, Granger,” he said softly. “I’d almost prefer you tortured me.” He flipped the parchment over to see the blank backing and reached for her quill.

“That’s not all. I want to add some conditions and restrictions.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Oh?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. The smug arrogance was back.

“You can’t use any Unforgivables on me.”

“Done.” She added the words ‘Draco Malfoy may not use Unforgivables’ to the list on the charmed parchment.

“You can’t _Obliviate_ me.”

“Done.” She scrawled that on the parchment as well. This was going well; she felt encouraged by the progress. Malfoy might be dangerous, but he wasn’t evil like the other Death Eaters. She continued.

“You can’t make me talk about anything pertaining to the war.”

He snorted in derision. “Gladly.”

She paused while writing. Saying ‘Done’ meant that he agreed to her terms. ‘Gladly’ implied something else entirely. He didn’t even _want_ to know? Then why did he take her bag in the first place? Wasn’t the whole point of this exercise to prevent him from sharing war secrets with his side?

She rounded on him in frustration. “If you don’t _care_ , then give me back the damn bag!” He just stared at her, unmoving and silent. Waiting for her to continue.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled sharply through her teeth. Fucking. Buggering. Hell. He was _such_ an arsehole. She returned to the list of her conditions, her voice a tad louder in her anger.

“No Legilimency.”

His eyes snapped to hers apprehensively. “How did you know I’m a Legilimens?”

“Because you’ve just told me now.”

His lips parted, then curled slowly into a smile. “Done.” Leaning into her, he spoke again. “You don’t negotiate like a Gryffindor. I need to wake up and think about this a bit.”

“There’s plenty of coffee left.” She pointed at the urn with her quill. “Twat,” she muttered under her breath.

“Language,” he chastised with a laugh and returned to his room.

She didn’t like anything of what was happening here, but at least she had regained some semblance of control over the situation.

Dangerous, but not evil. She could deal with that.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Thirty minutes later, Malfoy returned to Hermione’s side at the counter, thankfully fully dressed in his school robes. It didn’t stop the now familiar heat from spreading through her belly every time he was next to her, but at least she didn’t have to look at the rises and dips of his muscles. Or feel his skin on hers. She rubbed her thighs together at the memory.

She looked over at him. He took a bite from his croissant and sipped his coffee. His demeanor had changed dramatically from when he had first woken. Gone was the flirty, smug arrogance from before; now, he was taking this agreement as seriously as she was. He chewed thoughtfully and motioned to the parchment with the hand holding his croissant, extending his pinky.

“Write down that you have to obey everything I say from 5 o’clock in the evening until 5 o’clock in the morning.”

She turned to him in disbelief _. Seriously?_

“You already agreed to one evening. _Evening_ , Malfoy. It says so at the beginning. Eight until midnight.”

He nodded as if he’d expected her to walk him back. “Five until midnight.”

“I’ll want time for dinner. Seven o’clock.”

“Six.”

“Fine,” she ground out. She didn’t think she’d be able to stomach dinner anyway. She finished writing and without looking at him, made her demand. “It has to be tonight.”

Hermione wanted to get this over with. An unanticipated downside to the contract was that he would undoubtedly go through her notebook now, if hadn’t already. Before their negotiation, he hadn’t been aware of the severity of its importance. Now, there was no question that he was. She didn’t want him to have time to figure out how to get past the concealing charms, even if he claimed he didn’t care. Aside from that, she might have to go on the run any day now. She needed her bag back and to _Obliviate_ him as soon as possible.

“Sometime this week,” he countered.

She shook her head. “I need it back as soon as possible. We don’t know… _when the axe will fall_ ,” she said, using his euphemism from the tea incident.

Slowly, he turned to look at her. His molten grey eyes studied her face, and he appeared to be weighing his next words. “The axe won’t fall this week.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She would tell McGonagall as soon as he left for class and send a Patronus to Harry and Ron. He must really want this if he was giving up information like that.

“Tonight,” she pressed, holding her breath.

“This week, or I keep it.” Malfoy wanted this agreement, she knew he did. But she needed it more. After giving her the quick win earlier with the time frame, he was showing her that _he_ could walk away, but _she_ couldn’t. The terms and conditions that she was imposing were at _his_ discretion. She didn’t have anything that would make her walk away aside from the _Obliviation_ , and he knew it.

If he didn’t want to do it tonight, there were two possible reasons. The first was so he could have more time to figure out what was so critical about the contents of her bag. The second, which chilled her to the bone with dread, was that he wanted time to _prepare_.

But she had to give in. “Fine.”

“Is that all, Granger?”

“No,” she continued tonelessly. “No one else can be involved.”

He studied her over the rim of his coffee cup as he sipped and then licked his lips. He was back to flirting again. Those damn cups.

“Done,” he said and smirked. “I don’t like sharing.”

She rolled her eyes and added the stipulation to the growing list on the parchment. “The entirety of our evening has to be spent here in the common area.”

“And the bathroom,” he countered.

She looked over at him. So they would shower together? There were worse things to worry about than a steamy shower with the prat who pranced around in a towel.

“Fine,” she agreed. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

She thought he paled slightly but couldn’t be sure. “Unless I’m under duress.”

She nodded silently and felt a twinge of pity for him, despite how disgustingly perverted he was.

_By his own aunt._

Hermione couldn’t imagine what it must be like having someone like Bellatrix in her family. She corrected the statement, and Malfoy nodded.

She tried to keep the trembling out of her voice for the next rule. “You can’t hurt me.”

“Then what’s the point?” he answered without missing a beat.

She turned to him slowly, horrified, but he just took another sip of his coffee, grey eyes fixated on her.

“You want to… hurt me?”

“A bit,” his voice was casual, despite the topic of conversation.

He was willing to walk away over this. She just knew it.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘a bit’, Malfoy?” she spat, trying to keep the tremor of fear out of her voice.

He ran a thumb along his jaw and held her gaze. “What do you _think_ it means?”

She gripped the quill so hard she thought it might snap. Being hurt was what she was afraid of. A stinging hex? A broken arm? Being cut? Whipped? She had no idea what he had in mind. This was terrifying, and of _course_ he wouldn’t answer her. He _never_ answered her.

Taking a deep breath, she continued.

“Nothing that would need healing.”

Hermione could see the answer in his eyes before he spoke. Her throat felt tight with fear.

“No,” he answered quietly.

She steeled herself and pressed forward. All she could think about now was broken bones, violent rape, knives, and blood. But that wasn’t him, was it? He was _dangerous_ , but he wasn’t _evil_. What in the hell did he want to do to her? Beaver teeth again?

“Nothing that would require Madam Pomfrey. You can only do things to me that you can heal yourself.”

She could see him imagining all the things he wanted to do to her and whether or not they aligned with this restriction. Her eyes widened slightly as he mentally raced through what appeared to be a very extensive list. Most seventh years could repair bruises, scrapes, and cuts, and the effects of some hexes. She had no idea how capable he was as a healer, but at least there would be some limitation to what he could do.

“No,” he answered again.

Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She reminded herself that this was her fault. She had been careless, and now she was paying the price. But it had to be done. _It had to be done_. No one could know about the Horcruxes, least of all Voldemort. And they needed the basilisk fangs to destroy them. She opened her eyes again.

“No permanent damage.” Her voice was shaking. She was terrified now.

His lips spread in a thin smile as he considered her request. “Are you a virgin, Granger?”

She swallowed, considering her response carefully. He’d likely see evidence of that anyway if he intended on having sex with her. “Yes.”

“Well, then,” he closed in on her. The heat from his breath and his body made it hard for her to breathe. “Stretching the hymen is permanent damage. Isn’t it?”*

“No permanent damage except to my hymen,” she amended, her body trembling.

“Alright.”

She released a shuddering sigh in relief. Not a sadist. He was not a sadist. He wasn’t evil. She could do this.

She had one last card to play but had no idea if he would agree to it. It didn’t necessarily restrict his ability to hurt her, but it would make him consider that there was a price to be paid for his actions.

“Last condition. Whatever you do to me, I can return to you two-fold if I choose, at another time.”

 _That_ caught him off-guard. “Two-fold?” he queried, stepping back from her.

“Two times more, two times harder, two times longer, two times…” Hermione trailed off. She couldn’t think of any other adjectives that would apply. “You get the idea.”

He rubbed his jaw in thought, eyes never leaving hers. It would give her the ability to hurt or hex him with impunity. She’d be restricted precisely by what he chose to do to her, and what she could stomach doing to him in return. She didn’t know what he planned on doing to her, but it would force him to consider that everything he did could be returned.

“You sure you would want to go through with that?” he taunted her in a soft voice.

Hermione had no idea what “that” entailed, but she was no stranger to physical violence. She’d inflicted more on Ron in the past when she was angry with him than she had on Malfoy.

“If you’re a foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach, I absolutely would.” She tried to smirk at the memory of her punching Malfoy in third year, but her mouth simply would not turn upward. She was too anxious to see whether or not he would agree to the limitation.

He contemplated her, obviously impressed. She had no idea what consequences he was weighing or how her stipulation had changed his plans. It was another way to limit how he could hurt her, after he had already rejected the two previous restrictions. Perhaps he would find her attempt to inflict hurt upon him amusing, imagining her to her be incapable of it. Another way to mess with her head. Maybe that was worth the additional restriction to him.

Malfoy finished off his croissant and licked his thumb and index finger while continuing to pin her with his bright grey eyes. Hermione’s eyes strayed to the movements of his tongue.

“Alright, Granger,” he said, startling her. She hadn’t realized how distracted she’d become from watching his pink tongue pick up the remaining crumbs on his fingertips. “Two-fold. If you don’t have anything else, let’s sign this now. _Some_ of us still have class.”

She handed him the quill, and he signed his name. The black ink of his signature flashed gold as the magical contract took effect. He returned her quill, and she rolled up the parchment.

“The fuck are you doing?” he asked in disbelief. “Sign your own contract!”

She glared at him, unrolled the parchment, and signed her name.

It had certainly been worth a try.

 _Bugger_.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The anticipation was killing Hermione, and Malfoy knew it. Every day, she’d throw herself into her research and try to block out the impending tick of the clock towards six. He continued as usual: sweaty bare chest walking into their shared bathroom; dripping wet bare chest returning to his bedroom. Wearing naught but that damned towel wrapped around his waist and looking as if it could fall off at any moment, he sent her heated glances and brushed past her when he could. He undressed her with his eyes, leered at her legs, and watched her with obvious enjoyment if she bent over.

At least she had narrowed down her guesses. Hermione was now certain that the diadem was the Ravenclaw Horcrux. So she’d made some progress, but Malfoy was making her _insane_. She knew they were going to have sex but didn’t know the details. She guessed there would be some form of BDSM since he was so intent on hurting her but didn’t know to what extent. Spanking? Whipping? What else? She expected that she’d have to close her eyes, lie back, and think of England to get through it all.

And yet, part of her was nervous and excited. In spite of herself, Hermione felt a growing lust towards him with the passing of each waking hour. As six o’clock came and went on the previous two days with no signal from him, she had found that she couldn’t differentiate between her relief and her disappointment.

She eyed the clock.

5:55 pm.

In the periphery of her vision, she saw Malfoy stand up, stretch languidly, and walk over to her. She sucked in a breath, put aside her notes, and slowly stood to meet him. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she felt her loins tighten in anticipation. This was it.

He approached her, and she looked up into his eyes with trepidation. He raised a hand to her face and rubbed his thumb lightly over her cheek. The gesture was surprisingly tender, and his thumb was causing all sorts of sensations to her insides. He leaned down close to her face, and she tilted her head up until their lips were almost touching. After several seconds of expecting a kiss and receiving none, she swayed, slightly off balance.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he whispered against her lips. He removed his hand from her cheek and extended his arm towards his open bedroom door.

“ _Accio_ broomstick!” His broom flew into his hand with a _thunk_ and he walked out of their common area without a backwards glance.

_Bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I originally had Draco ask about "tearing the hymen" and changed it because this is a common misconception. Thanks to MisDemeanor1331 for pointing it out. Hymens don't necessarily tear after sex. They can stretch though.
> 
> A lot of girls stretch their hymens before having sex – doing sports, gymnastics, horse riding. Some girls have hymens that are already wide enough to accommodate a penis. Some girls have to have their hymens surgically cut because they are so small and make sex painful. Here's a resource if you're interested.
> 
> https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/teens/sex/virginity
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the reviews! I love them! I can't tell you how satisfying it is to see that people enjoy my work.


	3. Chapter 3

After the way he’d been toying with her, Hermione resolved to stop watching for Malfoy and to stop checking the time. With a swish of her wand, she turned the couch around so it faced a corner of the common room, away from the clock on the fireplace mantle . She spread her work out before her and continued as usual.

After a few hours, Malfoy returned from classes. A rustle of fabric was all she heard as he walked around their common area, but she was pleased that she couldn’t see him. She heard him laugh to himself, probably at how she had rearranged her work area.

She should have turned the couch around ages ago. Then she wouldn’t have had to see him wandering around, half-naked in a towel. Proudly, she could say that she had no idea what the time was, no idea what he was doing at present, or what he was (or wasn’t) wearing. She was working on transferring a picture from a book to a new notebook when his voice rang out.

“Granger!” Malfoy barked.

“What?!” She jumped, startled.

“Make me tea. Earl Grey.”

She turned around. It was six o’clock.

_Fuck._

Her stomach flipped: he was initiating their deal. This was it. Six more hours before she got her bag back and ensured the secrecy of the Horcrux mission.

Hermione packed up her work and dropped it off in her bedroom, locking her door. She turned around and steeled herself. She could do this. Refusing to look at him sitting in his armchair, she walked over to the kitchenette area, placed her wand on the counter, and stopped.

There was an unfamiliar duffle bag on the counter. What, had he brought _props_ for this? Handcuffs? Costumes? Whips? Her hands twitched in nervous dread, wanting to see what he had in store for her tonight.

“Curious?” he asked.

She glanced at Malfoy. He stared back, his expression challenging. He wanted her to ask him what it was. He wanted her to open it. She could tell. Well, too bad for him; she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She walked past the bag and started preparing tea. as slowly as she could, dragging out the time.

“Milk and one teaspoon of sugar,” he called from his chair.

She wondered if she could run the clock down simply by taking as long as she could on each task.

“Before this bloody war ends, if possible.”

Of course not.

Tea. She could make him some sodding tea. She could cook whatever the hell he wanted. She could clean the common area from top to bottom. Maybe this whole sex thing was a farce, and he just wanted to boss her around like a house-elf for shits and giggles. Maybe he had a duster and a mop and soap in the bag.

She sighed internally. Fat chance.

Malfoy wouldn’t even know what those items were. He’d probably never even seen cleaning supplies in his rotten, spoiled life.

Not knowing how she could drag the process out any further, she finished preparing the tea and brought it over to him.

“Move the footstool aside,” he said imperiously, taking the tea from her.

She looked at him questioningly but obeyed.

“On your knees, Mudblood.” He motioned to the floor in front of him, where the footstool had been.

She blanched as all the blood left her face and looked at him, mouth agape. Already? And… He was going to drink _tea_ while she did it?

He huffed a laugh at her expense.

“On all fours,” he clarified. “Back straight. I need a foot stool.”

 _“What?”_ she asked, incredulous. He didn’t want her to suck him off, he wanted her to be… A foot stool?

“Did I stutter?” He held the teacup with his pinky out daintily, giving her a supercilious look. He took a slow sip, eyeing her over the rim. “Not bad, Mudblood.”

Feeling a strange mix of relief and humiliation, Hermione dropped to her hands and knees. She tried to straighten her back and looked over to see a smug grin on Malfoy’s face. She could do this. She needed her bag, and she needed to _Obliviate_ him. She could be a sodding foot stool. One after the other, he extended his legs to rest them on her back.

“Ouch!” She winced as one of his heels landed on her spine. It was uncomfortable and insulting, but it wasn’t as terrible as a blow job, that was for sure.

She turned away from him to look straight forward, but found that doing so strained her neck. Instead, she let her head hang naturally, even though it felt like she was being chastened for something. Bent over like this, her skirt rode up. If Malfoy leaned over to the side, he’d have a clear view of the back of her thighs.

As she listened to him drink his tea, she pondered his use of the word Mudblood. He hadn’t called her Mudblood before this. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had heard him use the term. And now all of a sudden the word left his lips every other sentence. Obviously, he was trying to degrade her. But what had stopped him from using it before? He had been referring to her by her last name, as she did with him. It seemed like he was using the term simply to piss her off, like there was no fervor behind it.

“Comfortable?” he asked after a few minutes of drinking in silence.

“Your heel is digging into my shoulder blade,” she grumbled.

“Mmmm,” was his noncommittal reply, but he adjusted his foot so it was less painful for her. She felt a cool breeze on the backs of her thighs, causing her skirt to flutter upwards. Hermione turned to look back, curious. Malfoy had his wand in hand and was aiming it at her backside. She huffed and turned back around while he leered at her.

“You’ve got a nice arse, Mudblood.”

Heat spread within her at his appraisal, but she ignored him. Despite the discomfort, there was something about the position that she was embarrassed to admit that she liked. She felt the beginnings of desire stirring within her.

“Don’t ignore me,” he commanded her.

She exhaled in irritation. She had thought that the less she fought with him, the more smoothly this would go, but _clearly_ he did not want to be ignored. Did he expect her to reply with a series of ‘Thank you, sir’s?

Like _hell_ she would.

“Yes, Malfoy. That’s all I’m missing in my life right now,” she replied in irritation. “Your approval of my rear end.”

He snorted and blew the wind more strongly from his wand, causing her skirt to flip completely over, covering his calves where they rested on her back. He leaned over to the side, studying her panty-clad rear and, to her absolute horror, she felt a very singular and distinct clench of her vagina, followed by the spread of heat throughout her core. Could he see her body react from his angle? She let her head hang, wallowing in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Hermione knew on an intellectual level that she shouldn’t be ashamed of what aroused her, that it couldn’t be helped. But still, she felt shame. Deeply. She shouldn’t be turned on from being put in a humiliating position, called a Mudblood, and used as a piece of furniture with her arse on display for Draco _sodding_ Malfoy. He was degrading her. It was vulgar.

And part of her _liked_ it.

She didn’t understand. What was it about this situation that had her so turned on? Was it because he was so attractive? Because she wanted him? She had been watching his bare-chested self prance around in a towel for over a week, but this was different. Was it being told what to do? He was incredibly domineering in his mannerisms. Is _that_ what she liked? Maybe it was both. She was on all fours for Merlin’s sake. Why would she like this?

But did it _matter_ why? There wasn’t much she could do about it.

Her knees pressed into the common room’s rug and her fingers lightly gripped the fibers. She looked at the clock. She’d been in this position for 20 minutes. She hoped Malfoy remembered that he would be _her_ footstool for at least 40 minutes. She smiled at the thought of him trying to balance her feet, a plate of cake, and a teacup and saucer on his back. Maybe she’d make a whole pot of tea for him to balance. _Boiling_ hot tea. That would put the wanker in his place.

She waited in silence while Malfoy finished his tea and sent another stream of cool air to her backside. This time, she shivered at the contact with her skin, and her cunt clenched in anticipation again. She might be wet. If she was, could he see it? This was absolutely _humiliating_.

“Are you _turned_ _on_ by this, Mudblood?” His surprised voice interrupted her thoughts.

She opened her mouth to lie.

“Tell the truth.”

 _Bollocks_!

Now she _did_ have to be honest, according to the agreement that she had written and signed. She had intended the threat of gangrene to ensure his compliance with the contract, but hoped that her compliance would be based on her word alone. But he hadn’t let her get away without signing in turn, and now she was stuck. She didn’t know what was worse: being degraded in this way, or having to admit to him that she liked it.

He waited patiently for her answer. At this point, her silence was answer enough. She couldn’t look at him while she spoke the admission. It was dark and deviant, and she didn’t want him to know these things about her. But she had no choice.

“Yes.”

That one word hung in the air between them.

It was a confession. She truly didn’t understand it. She didn’t consider herself a submissive person at all. And yet, wasn’t her arousal at having his sodding feet on her back the proof that she was? At least, in sexual situations?

She knew that he was smirking, she just knew it. Maybe she could threaten that smirk off his face.

“You’re going to be _my_ footstool for at least 40 minutes, you know. You’ll have to balance twice the weight. I’ll bring out the whole damn tea set.” She turned around to face him to see how he would confront the reality of her impending revenge. The smirk didn’t waiver.

Malfoy’s eyes travelled from her face to her backside and back again. His grey eyes darkened. “I’m counting on it.” Her lips parted, unsure what to do with that information. Perhaps her two-fold rule had backfired on her. He’d agreed to it, so of course it would be something he wouldn’t mind doing, but she hadn’t considered that he’d _enjoy_ it. That he’d _want_ her to do these things to him.

Maybe he was as sick as she was.

He finished the last of his tea with an uncharacteristically loud slurp and placed the cup and saucer on the footstool that she had moved earlier. One by one, he removed his legs. Hermione stretched her shoulders and back, grateful for the release in pressure. She rolled her neck as he crouched down on the ground next to her. She looked back at him, his face only an inch or two away from her rear end.

“Are you _wet_?”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t know. It was possible. She felt herself clench. She probably was. Would he be able to see?

Her voice came out shakier than she wanted. “Maybe?”

He licked his lips, and her eyes were drawn to his tongue.

“Do you want me to _check?_ ”

To check. Did he mean… With his fingers?

 _Oh god_.

_Yes._

_She did._

Hermione felt a small rivulet of moisture in between her legs. Her underwear was wet. Malfoy would see it. He would know. He was just taunting her, waiting for her to answer. She didn’t want to tell him that she desperately wanted his fingers there.

She evaded and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his penetrating gaze.

“I’m wet. I can feel it.”

He sat back in the armchair, and she opened her eyes. His finger was at his lips. The finger he would have put inside of her. She bit her lip and let her head hang down. She couldn’t look at him.

“Stand up.”

Grateful for the change in position, she slowly pushed herself up and stood before him.

“Take your knickers off.”

Her lips parted. Was this it? Now he was going to have sex with her? She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She could do this. She opened her eyes. He was smirking at her. Awkwardly, she bent over and pulled her knickers down to her ankles, without exposing herself to him. She stood up again and toed them off, kicking them to the side.

“Bring them to me.”

She bent over again, cognizant that there was nothing underneath her skirt anymore, and feeling more vulnerable for it. She picked up her knickers and tossed them to Malfoy. With lurid fascination, she watched as he brought her knickers to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Mmmm. Filthy,” he sighed at her with approval. “And damp. You fucking _love_ this, Granger.” She watched in horror as he shoved them in his trouser pocket.

“No!” she cried out. “You can’t keep those!”

“Not according to _your_ agreement.”

He was right. She was so worried about what he might do to _her_ that she hadn’t stopped to think about what he would do to her _possessions_. Fortunately, she had limited them to the common room and their bathroom. Everything of importance was in her bedroom.

She balled her hands into fists and let out a sigh of frustration. Did he have to look so goddamn pleased with himself?

Her eyes travelled southward to his pelvis, where he made no attempt to hide the erection forming a tent in his trousers. Clearly, he wasn’t ashamed of his desire like she was. Far from it. He was daring her to notice, to react. She tried not to, but he caught her eye, knowing where she had been looking. He waited in silence while she squirmed in front of him, unsure of what he would demand next. Did he want her to straddle him on the armchair? Would they do it more than once? How long would he need to recover after coming? That would take some time, wouldn’t it?

Malfoy watched the nervousness play over her face and his lips quirked, holding in a laugh.

“My feet ache from Quidditch practice.” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wash and massage them.”

She looked down at his shoes, all thoughts of what else he might do forgotten. He was well and truly messing with her head. Earlier, she thought he would make her go down on him, now she thought he would make her straddle him. And here she was, being requested to wash his feet of all things. With her knickers in his pocket. It was psychological whiplash.

He was such a prick. Couldn’t he just get it all over with? This must be why he wanted to wait a few days. He had the whole evening planned out. Designed to mess with her, physically _and_ psychologically.

She glared at him. The act he had just ordered her to do was fairly benign. Obviously, these things he was asking her to do weren’t _just_ to mess with her. He was getting off on her serving him. The foot washing was an extension of being a piece of furniture. But at least it wasn’t sexual. She’d wash his bloody ferret feet all night if she had to.

She ignored his self-satisfied smirk and turned to go to their bathroom, glancing at his bag. Glancing at her wand. Her wand was _right there_.

“What do you think I brought? Whips and chains?”

“Yes.”

“You can open it,” he taunted.

It wasn’t a command so she ignored him and walked past his bag, shutting the door to the loo behind her. She took a basin, let hot water run into it, and retrieved a flannel. While she waited for the basin to fill, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was a hot mess: her cheeks were tinted pink, and her large hazel eyes looked a bit glassy, pupils blown wide. Her curly brown hair had started to come out of her plait, curls sticking to her neck where a slight sheen had begun to develop. She was sore, worked up, and _completely_ unsatisfied. As Hermione gazed at herself, she acknowledged that some small part of her hoped she would get to orgasm tonight.

She felt another clench, a reminder of how hot and wanting she had been. Since she would be servicing Malfoy, it was doubtful that she’d be the recipient of any orgasms that evening. She let out a breath and, in an effort to regain some of the control she’d lost, redid her plait. She shut off the faucet, brought the basin and cloth over to Malfoy, and knelt before him, refusing to meet his eyes.

Slowly, she unlaced his shoes and removed his socks. She glanced up to see his head tilted back and his eyes shut. Maybe he would fall asleep.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I’m not going to fall asleep, Granger.”

“Pity.”

He opened one eye and looked at her, clearly amused. She rolled up his trouser legs and the sleeves of her blouse. He let out a satisfied groan as she carefully placed his feet in the warm water. The sound was arousing. She had never heard him groan before - not like _that,_ anyway. She contemplated how his sounds made her feel while running the flannel over his feet. Everything about this man turned her on, and he knew it. She worked the cloth between his toes, over the bones and ridges of the top of his foot, and his ankle. She worked methodically. She was in no rush to finish, not when the task wasn’t sexual. At least, not overtly.

When she reached the underside of his foot he jerked it back.

“Ticklish?” She gave him a wicked grin.

“Yes.” His answering grin was surprisingly boyish. “Be careful with the soles of my feet.”

Hermione smiled to herself and swiped there again playfully. He was on her in half a second. She yelped as his fingers wove through her plait. Hand digging into her scalp, he forced her to look up at him.

“What did I _just say_ , Mudblood?” he growled at her.

Hermione swallowed. She’d momentarily forgotten that this was dangerous. That _he_ was dangerous. That he wanted to hurt her. It wasn’t play time. She wouldn’t forget that again.

“Not to tickle you.”

He grunted, released his hold on her hair, and lay back while she took a few seconds to compose herself before continuing to wash his other foot. She went back to the first foot to see how much she could prolong this task, but Malfoy instructed her to get on with it. She moved the basin to the side and proceeded to dry and massage his feet, ankles, and lower calves, being careful not to tickle the soles again.

She glanced up at the clock and saw that a full hour had passed. Five hours until midnight. She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into his flesh.

“Right there… Yeeeahhhhh.”

He let out a groan of pleasure as her fingers worked on him, and the sound resonated through her. There was something utterly arousing about listening to an attractive man make sounds of pleasure in response to her touches.

She felt a prickliness on her skin and looked up to see Malfoy staring intently at her. He still sported an erection. From where she was kneeling in front of him, it was at her eye level. She wondered what the chances were of the night remaining as innocuous as this foot massage.

“It suits you, Mudblood. Being on your knees between my legs.”

She felt a thrill of dread run through her at his words and looked resolutely at her hands, working the muscles and tendons of his calves. Yes, it was coming. She couldn’t escape it, and he was taunting her. He was going to make her suck him off and do any number of other wicked things that he requested. Five hours was plenty of time for whatever debauchery he had planned. This was just the prelude.

Putting her in her place. Rubbing her face in her servitude.

“You’d never get me without blackmail. It’s all forced.” Malfoy stared down at her in contemplation. He didn’t seem to mind when she talked back to him; if anything, he enjoyed it. So long as she obeyed.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Granger.” He sounded disgusted at her insinuation. “Feel free to tear up that parchment we signed and walk away.”

She gritted her teeth and looked up at him. “You _know_ I can’t do that.”

“Won’t,” he corrected. “Not can’t. This is _your_ choice. I’m not making you do a sodding thing.”

 _Technically_ that was true. She growled in response and he chuckled. “Do you like servicing me?”

Was she enjoying this? The sounds he made aroused her. She liked to watch him receive pleasure from her. “Yes,” she admitted quietly.

“And you like it when I order you around.”

Maybe.

Yes.

There was something exciting and somewhat dangerous in being told what to do by an extremely attractive, domineering man.

She didn’t want to be chastised for lying to him. Once again, she didn’t know which was worse: having to perform these acts for him, or having to admit that part of her liked being debased, and by him in particular.

“Yes,” she ground out. His point was clear: she could try to suggest that he was coercing her to do things that she wouldn’t normally do, but they both knew that she was enjoying it. That she desired more.

Malfoy stood up from the armchair, and she sat back on her knees, looking up at him. His eyes were intense as he studied her, looking down at her from so high up above, but she didn’t look away. He offered her his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to a standing position.

“You’ve got talented hands, Granger. Are you sore?”

The tone of his voice had changed. He was momentarily breaking out of their role play. Why did he even care if she was sore when he was going to hurt her anyway? Would he use her admission against her? She thought back to how he had moved his foot when she admitted his heel was digging into her shoulder.

Maybe not. At least, not yet.

She flexed her fingers experimentally. They did feel cramped, and her lower back and shoulders still ached from where he had rested his feet. She rolled her left shoulder and winced.

“Yes,” she replied, taking a gamble. “My shoulders and lower back hurt a bit, and my hands are cramped from the massage.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and Hermione nearly gasped at the contact. His fingers pressed into her flesh, and he turned her around so her backside faced him. Then he waved his wand to perform a muscle relaxant charm over her. A warm, comforting sensation spread over her lower back and shoulders, and she let out a small sigh of gratitude. Madam Pomfrey had taught her that same spell. It was helpful. He spun her back around.

“Hold out your hands.”

She did, and he tapped her palms with his wand. Instantly, the cramping in her fingers disappeared. She hadn’t learned that one. Useful.

He glanced at her from under his fringe. “Better?”

She nodded, confused by his concern for her welfare when he had admitted that hurting her was one of the primary reasons for this evening in the first place. He was much more capable at healing than she was, and she wondered why. Where and when had he learned? 

If Malfoy was going to heal her as they progressed throughout the night, maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible. Then again, he had refused the restriction she had proposed involving his healing capabilities. He intended on doing things to her that he couldn’t remedy by himself and that might require Madam Pomfrey’s help.

Hermione couldn’t help it; she was still scared.

“Take off my robes and shirt,” he ordered, resuming his role.

She tried and failed to prevent her voice from shaking. “Okay.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she closed the gap between them, still wondering what he was going to do to her tonight. She forced herself to reach up and undo the clasp of his robe, purposely avoiding his eyes. As she pushed the black fabric over and off of each broad shoulder, she could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. She shivered and laid his robe over the back of the arm chair. Next she loosened his tie. Her knuckles grazed the fabric of his shirt, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob in reaction to her touch. Her eyes flicked up and met his gaze, grey, molten, and unwavering. She looked down again, undid the knot, and slowly pulled the tie through his collar. She placed the slim piece of fabric across his robe.

Steeling herself for the next item of clothing, Hermione drew in a deep, steadying breath. She reached up and began opening the buttons of his shirt. Heat radiated from his chest as she worked her fingers down, revealing his skin. His short exhalations brushed against her cheek as his sternum and abdominal muscles came into view. She untucked his shirt from his trousers, watching the fabric slide against his skin, and continued unbuttoning the remainder. She reached up to push the fabric off of his shoulders when his fingers encircled her wrist.

She looked up to him in question.

“Cuffs,” he explained, his voice deep and throaty. He brought her fingers to his lips as he spoke, making them tingle.

“Oh,” she said softly, realizing she had forgotten to undo them. She gingerly pulled her hand out of his grasp, and he allowed her wrist to slide through his fingers. She reached down, grateful that her fingers had stopped trembling, and deftly opened each of his cuffs. She then reached up and pushed the opening of his shirt wider, removing it from his chest and shoulders. Pulling the shirt down, she tugged on each of his sleeves, freeing his arms.

He had never been so close to her before like this, bare chested.

“Scared?” His smirk got smirkier. He had seen her trembling, seen her hands shaking.

Her mouth went dry from his proximity, the contours of his muscles, the masculine, musky scent of him, and his grey eyes, peering down at her. If she said no, he’d command her to tell the truth anyway.

“Yes,” she answered, and turned away to lay his shirt atop his tie and robe.

“Belt.”

Hermione froze. How was she supposed to take off his belt with his erection _right there?_ She squared her shoulders. She could do this. She needed her bag back, and she had to keep the Horcruxes a secret. The outcome of the war depended on that. It was just a sodding belt. But it was a belt wrapped around his abdominal muscles and above his _extremely_ prominent erection.

Delicately, as if she were handling combustible potions ingredients, she pulled the leather out of the buckle and opened the metal clasp, hearing it clink. She pulled on the leather strap and to her horror, Malfoy’s pelvis was pulled forward against her at the same time. He hummed at the brief contact of his erection with her body. She released the belt, and his hips swayed backwards. Not wanting to prolong this torture any longer, she reluctantly placed her hand on his bare abdomen for leverage, feeling a light dusting of hair, and pulled the belt slowly through the belt loops. All without touching him any more than necessary.

Her hand dropped.

Done. It was done. She let out the breath she’d been holding and looked up at him. His eyes were crinkled in amusement.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said, steadying her voice.

“You’re enjoying it more,” he teased her.

“Go to hell.” She set his belt atop the clothes on the armchair.

“Been there for a while now.”

Aside from the contract stipulation regarding him speaking about this evening under duress, that vague comment was the closest they had ever gotten to discussing the war. Hermione wondered if she could stall for time by asking him about it. He was barred from asking her, but she didn’t have any restrictions on what she could ask him.

She turned back around and saw him lay face down on the rug. He folded his arms under his head to cushion his face, resting his cheek on his forearm.

“You’re brilliant with your hands, Granger. It would be criminally negligent not to make you rub my back.”

She was relieved that the next task would not hurt and had not yet progressed to sex. On the other hand, the not knowing, the tension, the _anticipation_ was driving her nuts. She wished she could get it all over with; he was just delaying the inevitable.

Kneeling next to him on the rug and tucking her skirt around her legs, Hermione prepared to start on his shoulders.

“Straddle me.”

_Of course._

First Malfoy took her underwear and now he wanted her to sit on him. Carefully, she sat up on her knees so as not to give him an eyeful, leaned forward, and brought her leg around so that she sat with a knee on either side of his torso. She tucked her skirt beneath her and sat down on his back so that the fabric of her skirt separated her from him.

Once again, she leaned forward to begin massaging his shoulders.

“Move your skirt.”

Her hands paused on his skin, and she looked at his expression. His eyes were closed, but he had a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Sod it all,” she muttered. “Tosser.”

He sniggered at her obvious irritation and discomfort. He wasn’t letting her get away with _anything._ She wanted to smack him, not massage him. She drew in a slow breath, lifted her bum and shifted the fabric of her skirt. Counting to three, she slowly lowered her exposed privates onto his lower back. She felt the heat of his skin against hers, and when he let out a satisfied hiss, she felt a jolt of electricity.

“That fucking cunt of yours unbelievably hot and wet, Mudblood.”

She had no reply; she didn’t know what to say. She was attracted to him, he was debasing her. It aroused her, he knew it, and she was mortified.

_Ugh!_

He rolled his hips underneath her, and she bit her lip at the sudden movement.

“Is Hermione Granger finally rendered speechless?”

 _God,_ he was horrible. She better get started before he changed his mind and decided to have her do something else.

“Fuck you,” she spat, and dug her fingers into his upper back.

“In a bit,” he countered with a grunt. At least the massage would shut him up.

She kneaded his muscles, moving across his shoulders, up each arm, down his back, and returning up his sides. Her efforts were rewarded with the occasional sigh or groan of pleasure. Malfoy knew he was sexy. He had been flaunting himself in front of her for the past week, and now she was touching him intimately.

 _Servicing him_ , as he had called it.

She tried to forget the fact that her vulva was in direct contact with the heat of his skin and concentrated on massaging his muscles. She dug her thumbs into tight areas, working her way over the dips and curves of his back, shoulders, and arms. He growled, muttering something unintelligible as she continued. As far as she was concerned, the longer she dragged out this massage, the better. She did her best to follow his physical reactions and his vocal cues, overt or otherwise, to hit sensitive spots, work problem areas, and - she couldn’t _help_ it - explore his body.

When she dug her palm into an area on his side, Malfoy let out a long, low growl that turned into a half laugh.

“Can you do this again tomorrow, Granger?”

“Not on your life,” she snapped, happy she was to be able to refuse him something.

“Thought so,” he said with a sigh of mock disappointment that turned into another groan of pleasure.

“If you like it so much, I can continue this way until midnight.”

Suddenly, he flipped himself over beneath her. The skin of his midriff slipped against her privates as he swiveled, and Hermione found herself off balance, hands anchoring her on his chest and straddling his lower abdomen. Her core clenched involuntarily, and she felt his erection beneath his trousers just grazing the edge of her bum. The position was too similar to actual sex, and very intimate. He laced his fingers together and brought his hands behind his head, cradling the back of his skull.

“Do you really think that’s how I would use you?”

His cock twitched against her backside. She squeezed her thigh muscles against his sides.

 _Use_ her.

It was so degrading how he phrased it. But that’s how he intended this to be.

“No.”

“So,” he said as he unlaced his fingers and waved a hand at her. “Continue.” He replaced his hand behind his head while he observed her.

She huffed and began kneading the muscles of his chest and where his shoulders met his neck. She eyed the nasty red scar across his chest and, unthinkingly, traced it with her finger. He tensed, and his hand caught her wrist.

“Don’t.”

She nodded and returned to kneading his muscles. Scars were personal. She had an ugly one on her torso courtesy of Dolohov from that night in the Department of Mysteries. Malfoy watched her work through hooded eyes but said nothing save for the occasional groan of approval. Every so often, he would buck up with his pelvis and press his cock into her backside.

Her fingers rubbed firm circles into the tops of his pecs.

“Ooooooh myyyyyyyy goooooooood,” he let out another long groan. “Granger, you missed your calling.”

“Not at all,” she shot back, feeling defensive at what might be a jab against her blood status. “I’ve got multiple talents and the O’s to prove it.”

“O’s to prove your multiple talents?” he repeated seductively, giving her statement an entirely different meaning.

Hermione huffed. _That_ wasn’t what she was referring to. She couldn’t look into his eyes. His gaze was too intense right now. She felt like she was burning up.

He removed his hands from behind his head and grabbed her waist. She stilled, nervous, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Gently, he lifted her up and pushed her back so that she sat astride his erection, over the fabric of his trousers. He bucked up, pulling her down onto his length and stretched his head back, jutting his chin upwards, straining and biting his lip with a low grunt of pleasure.

It was an incredibly erotic image. She hated him, but watching him react to her hands and her body aroused her. Her body, her desire, didn’t seem to be affected by how she felt about him personally. In fact, it could be precisely _because_ she didn’t like him, and because they were fighting on opposite sides of the war, that added to his forbidden and entirely perverse appeal.

Flushing with the feeling of his rough trousers against her slick core, Hermione lowered her eyes and began to move her hands once again. Shifting her hands southward, she kneaded his sides and lower abdomen, where she had been sitting previously. His skin was slick from her wetness, and she smeared it as she continued her massage.

“Lower,” he growled, digging his fingers into her hips.

She slid her hands lower, next to the waistline of his trousers, and continued to massage him.

“Lower,” he repeated with a groan. She slid her bum backwards and slipped her hands below the waist of his trousers. She could feel coarse hair, and his pubic bone, and then she saw it. The tip of his penis emerged as she pushed down the waist of his trousers. It glistened, wet with pre-come. She felt a thrill from seeing the forbidden for the first time, but focused on kneading his muscles, wary of moving her hands too close to his cock.

“ _Lower_.” His voice was strained as he gripped her waist and lifted his pelvis with another groan.

She couldn’t take his teasing anymore. “Malfoy, if you want a hand job then just tell me.”

He laughed out loud and bit his lip again, moving her hips forward over his erection with a half grunt-half whimper and then pushing her back. She bit back a moan of her own at the friction of his length between her legs as he rubbed her over him.

He looked up at her devilishly. “Do you want to suck me off instead?”

She stared down at him. Her heart hammered in her chest as his words reverberated in her head.

He was teasing her. He didn’t even expect her to answer. But with a growing horror, Hermione realized that she did. She _wanted_ to suck him off. Even worse, she wanted Malfoy to _order_ her to suck him off. He had been taunting her with sex all night. Misleading her into believing that he would make her do it and then having her do something else to service him instead. Footstool. Foot washing. Foot massage. Body massage. And then she had seen the tip of his cock. She’d felt it between her legs. It was under her. Now.

It twitched against her entrance, and her cunt clenched in response.

Malfoy stopped moving, his lips parted in surprise as he studied her. “You _want_ to,” he said slowly, his voice lilting in disbelief. His fingers crept beneath the fabric of her skirt and teased the skin of her upper thighs.

“No I don’t.” Her denial was automatic, her pitch a little too high to be mistaken for honesty. Even _she_ didn’t think her reply sounded believable.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he said softly. She watched him appraise her in amazement. She looked away from him, a blush creeping from her chest up her neck and onto her cheeks. What did it matter if she wanted to do it or not? He was going to make her anyway. Everything was forced.

“I’d rather not.”

“Rather not suck me off or rather not want to?” His fingers continued to inch upwards, caressing the skin of her rear. Her thigh muscles twitched.

She hesitated. She didn’t want to answer, but her voice came out low, quiet, and ashamed. “Rather not want to.”

He kept staring at her. Amazed.

“You can walk away,” he answered, his voice a caress.

His fingers were tantalizing, drawing patterns on her upper thighs, her arse, her pelvis, leaving hot trails behind. She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms across her chest defensively, trying to ignore just how desperately she wanted him. 

“That’s not how blackmail works, Malfoy,” she said, staring down at him angrily. “The victim can’t walk away.”

“Won’t,” he corrected, his voice still soft with that faint tone of disbelief.

“Won’t,” she agreed reluctantly. “But you’re still foul.”

He shrugged, uncaring, and kept his gaze glued to her face. She rolled her wrists around and stretched her fingers and her forearms.

“Are your hands sore?” he asked.

Again he’d surprised her with his concern. She nodded; it had taken quite a bit of strength to massage for that long. Pulling one hand out from underneath her skirt, he withdrew his wand and tapped her palms for the second time, muttering incantations. The cramping disappeared.

“Who taught you to heal so well?” She was stalling, but genuinely curious.

He pulled up to a seated position, propping himself with one arm behind him on the floor while his other hand continued to draw patterns on her upper thigh and hip. Their faces were closer now, barely a hand’s breadth apart. He looked into her eyes and then down at her mouth. His breath tickled her lips.

He gave her thigh a tight squeeze. “Pour me some Firewhisky,” was his non-reply.

She figured he wouldn’t answer her questions, especially if they were personal, and apparently this one was. So much for stalling for time. Hermione got up off of him, backing away so he couldn’t look up her skirt. She felt a cold chill between her legs as she walked over to the kitchenette. She knew that he kept a bottle underneath the counter, though she had never seen him drink. She opened up the upper cabinet and pulled out a tumbler.

“Two glasses.”

She froze. Was he going to force her to get drunk? To get sick? She hadn’t thought to include forcing her to eat or drink anything or to ingest potions in the limitations. The two-fold stipulation wouldn’t even matter in the case of alcohol. She was sure he could drink far more than twice the amount to get her drunk or worse without even getting a buzz.

She looked behind her in trepidation. He had risen to his feet, standing upright and leaning against the back of the couch, which was still turned to face the common room’s corner . One of his legs was crossed over the other, and he had his hands in his pockets. She could still see his erection, and he was fingering her knickers in his pocket.

“Are you going to make me drink?”

“No,” he answered, to her relief. That was good. And unexpected. Maybe he wasn’t so terrible.

“I don’t want you _drunk_ ,” he continued with a wicked smile. “I want you to know _exactly_ what you’re doing.”

Never mind, he was _completely_ terrible. She turned back to the cabinet with a frustrated hiss. She pulled out two glasses and set them loudly on the counter next to his bag that she absolutely did _not_ want to know the contents of.

He must have seen her eyeing his bag again because he asked with a smug grin, “You sure you don’t want to peek inside?” He was now twirling her knickers around on his index finger.

She glared at him and uncorked the Firewhisky bottle. “I’m not interested in your kinky shit, Malfoy.”

Hermione poured his cup halfway, unsure as to how much he wanted, and poured a splash for herself. She didn’t want to be drunk either, but perhaps a little bit would calm her nerves and make the night easier.

“Stop pretending you’re above it all, Granger. You’re fairly kinky yourself.”

“Am not,” she flatly denied.

He chuckled. By now, both of them knew she was full of it.

“Have you ever tried dirty talk?” His expression was curious.

She picked up his glass and made to walk over when held his hand up for her to stop. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at him, and he pulled out his wand, levitating the glass across the common area without spilling a drop. Gracefully, he plucked the glass out of the air.

“Not really,” she replied. She had been so young with Victor, and things with Ron were awkward enough as it was.

“Talk dirty to me.”

Of course. Why else would he ask her if she had tried dirty talk before? He just wanted her to embarrass herself with her inexperience.

Sodding _wanker_.

She sent him the most withering, most exasperated, most _ball-shriveling_ glance that she could summon. Then, recalling memories of trashy Muggle romance novels, she took a breath and began to speak.

“Ooh Malfoy your cock is so large and I’m so wet and all I can think about is your gigantic-”

Malfoy interrupted with a surprised snigger. She had spoken the words in monotone, without pauses to add inflection. It had sounded like she was reading rote from a book that bored her to death, or like she was the world’s worst actress, rehearsing lines for the world’s most boring play.

“-Every time you look at me with your silver orbs-”

His eyebrows rose in amusement. “My silver _orbs_?”

“-Need you to squeeze the golden globes of my arse while I lick your hard Adonis-like pectorals-”

He burst out laughing, almost spilling his Firewhisky. She continued in a dull drawl that would have made Professor Binns’ lectures sound exciting.

“-Desperately want your throbbing sword in my quivering folds-

Malfoy bent over, body wracked with huge body-shaking belly laughs, holding his sides.

“-Can’t hold it in anymore oh please Malfoy fuck me harder oh Merlin please make me come I’m going to-”

He dropped his drink on the carpet and started wheezing. She stopped and smirked at him.

“Okay, Granger,” he gasped and stood up, body still shaking. “Point made. _Merlin!”_ He was still chuckling while he siphoned up the whisky from the floor and sent his glass back over to her.

“Refill,” he said, still looking like he was on the verge of laughter.

She refilled his glass, which he summoned back with a huge grin on his face.

“That was, by far, the best dirty talk I have ever heard. Well done.” He raised his tumbler as if to toast her and took a sip. “You’re not going to drink?” he asked, lips still twitching with mirth. He gave her panties one last twirl around his finger

She eyed her glass. “Maybe later.”

“Okay.” He took another slow sip, eyeing his bag and then her wand. After a moment he fixed his devilish stare on her over the rim of the glass. He gave one last chuckle and then lowered his tumbler.

“Crawl.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Crawl?_

_Ah._

Malfoy was back to degrading her. If Hermione crawled over to him, she would be on her knees in front of him. He’d tell her to suck him off. Prior to fetching his Firewhisky, she had admitted that a part of her wanted to. What else could he be thinking?

Dread spread throughout her body and made the hair of the back of her neck stand on end. Would he force himself into her mouth? Make her gag? That could very well constitute hurting her a bit.

Or maybe he would have her do something else entirely. _Merlin!_ She hated how he set up these situations. She expected the worst, but then he’d pull the rug out from under her and make her service him in some other degrading, albeit benign way.

He watched the emotions play across her face as she considered the situation.

“You can hex my balls off and walk away,” he reminded her in a challenging tone. Like he was calling her a coward for not crawling to him to suck him off. “You _offered_ me this evening, Granger. You could have thought of something else.” He took another sip and smiled smugly. “Not that I’m complaining.”

She didn’t want to argue with him about this anymore. He’d made his point, she’d made hers.

“Stop talking, Malfoy.”

“Not bloody likely.” He grinned and twirled her knickers again.

“Prat,” she grumbled under her breath.

He sipped his Firewhisky silently. Patiently waiting, as if he had all the time in the world.

Okay.

She was going down on him. No big deal. He was an eighteen-year-old male, he obviously wanted her, and he had been sporting an erection for at least thirty minutes now. Theoretically, it shouldn’t take long, and then he’d be out of commission for a period of time. The general mechanics of a blow job didn’t seem too difficult; Hermione knew what it would entail. She’d heard enough from her more sexually active dorm mates in Gryffindor tower.

She could do this. She eyed her glass. Liquid courage.

She threw back the Firewhisky and closed her eyes at the delicious burn as it slid down her throat, warming her belly. She opened her eyes to see Malfoy watching her appreciatively.

“You _are_ entertaining, Granger.”

“That was much better than I thought it would be,” she admitted, surprised at how smooth the alcohol had gone down.

“It should be,” he snorted. “That bottle is a far cry from the broomstick varnish they serve at the Leaky Cauldron.” He motioned to her with his glass. “You can take a bit more; you didn’t have much. Even for a lightweight.”

He’d phrased it as a suggestion and not a command. She was both surprised and grateful for the option. Carefully, she poured herself a tiny amount and looked up at him in question. He nodded approvingly.

Their interaction over the Firewhisky was a weird reprieve from the tension that had been building between them since the evening started. Like when he healed her. It was almost as if he wasn’t coercing her into performing sexual acts.

She made to knock the whisky back again when he called out to her. “That’s a 300 Galleon bottle. It’s meant to be savored.” His gaze slowly trailed down her body and slithered back up again before he added: “Like anything else of quality.” He eyed her while taking a drink from his glass, and licked the whisky from his lips.

“I didn’t know you were so cliché, Malfoy,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged, uncaringly. Although, she had to admit, savoring her was exactly what he seemed to be doing. He wasn't in a rush to do anything. He was taking his time, building up the tension between them. When she had first seen his erection, she’d thought they would be having sex immediately. Instead, he’d just carried his desire around with him. Waiting. Building the anticipation even more. Teasing and intimidating her with his arousal.

Hermione sipped at her drink and watched him lick his lips again. After savoring the flavor as he’d suggested, she set the glass down.

“Ready?” he asked with a smirk. The warmth in her belly spread. She did feel a bit calmer, less inhibited. She wasn’t shaking anymore and had to admit: a bit of Firewhisky had definitely helped. Wordlessly, she nodded.

“Crawl,” he repeated, shoving her knickers back into his pocket.

She took a deep breath, sunk to the floor, and began to crawl over to him. There wasn’t much to ogle. Her backside wasn’t facing him and her blouse was buttoned up. But, as with the other tasks she had performed, the purpose was very clearly to degrade her in service of him. That was his _modus operandi_ for the evening, and what she could continue to expect.

On her hands and knees, she crawled across the room, approaching his legs. He carelessly leaned against the back of the sofa, both hands in his pockets now that he had finished his Firewhisky and levitated his glass back to the counter. She eyed his erection as she closed in, remembering how she had exposed the tip of his cock while massaging his pelvis.

Hermione thought of the sounds he might make. He’d been extremely vocal during her massage, and part of her wanted to hear how he would be when she touched him so intimately. Her core began to feel empty with want again.

She arrived at his shins and stopped, nervous and not knowing what to do next. Without preamble, Malfoy grabbed her school tie and _yanked_. She gasped in surprise as the tie pulled on her neck, forcing her to look up at him. She clutched the material of his trousers to support herself as he dragged her up. He only stopped when her face was the same height as his erection. He stared down at her. She was sure she looked a mess: face flushed, eyes wide, lips falling open into an O of surprise.

Removing his other hand from his pocket, Malfoy grasped the back of her head and threaded his fingers into her hair, undoing her plait. He moved to cup the back of her head with his palm, and then hesitated. Unsure of what he wanted now and still suspended by her tie, Hermione let out a muffled whimper.

The noise was cut off when he suddenly pressed her face into his crotch, rubbing her nose, mouth, and cheek over his erection. She gasped and shifted her hands to grip the sides of his thighs in surprise, inhaling his musky scent. He moaned softly at the contact and she felt a slight tremor in his hips. After a few moments, he released her and returned his hand to his trouser pocket. Jerking away and pulling against the tie, Hermione inhaled deeply and licked her lips.

“Off.” She could hear his throat constrict around the word.

She looked up at him. His expression was dispassionate, eyes shining through his fringe hanging down over his brow. She thought of her wand on the kitchenette. She could hex him. She didn’t have to do this. But then she’d never get her bag back, would she? She might be able to _Obliviate_ him if she overpowered him, but she wouldn’t get her bag.

 _Horcruxes_.

She could do this if she approached it mechanically. He wasn’t there. It wasn’t him. It was just an item of clothing and a body part. Except… Part of her _wanted_ to do this.

Taking a deep breath and glad for the whisky, Hermione opened the button of his trousers and lowered his zipper. He continued to watch without saying a word.

She pulled his trousers down, and Malfoy’s hands slipped from his pockets. He pressed them onto the top of the couch on either side of his hips. His trousers fell to his ankles, and he uncrossed his legs, leaving a small space in between them.

Feeling a nervous thrill of excitement, Hermione smoothed her fingers along the waistband of his boxers, gripping the elastic and dragging them to his knees. Keeping her eyes determinedly forward, she grasped his erection with her hand as it bobbed free.

Taking a moment, she looked at his cock in her hand. It was large, but she thought she could fit it in her mouth. It might be uncomfortable, but she would could do it.

Releasing him from her grip, his erection sprang back towards his abdomen. No, that wouldn’t do - she couldn’t get it in her mouth at that angle. She grasped it again and held it out towards her face. Taking a breath, she opened her mouth and leaned forward.

“Lick.” His voice was hoarse. He released her school tie.

She paused, somewhat grateful at being told what to do. Instead of trying to swallow him, she darted her tongue out and licked the tip of his shaft, looking up to his face for some sign of approval. There was none; he continued to silently watch, jaw clenched, grey eyes burning down at her. She looked back at his cock. Should she lick him again? On the tip? On the shaft? She should mimic being inside someone. Maybe the whole shaft. She thought he’d just want to be in her mouth.

“You’ve never done this before,” he observed, a faint tone of disappointment in his voice. There was something in his tone that made her feel as if she’d been chastised. She was already awkward and unsure of what to do, and his subtle criticism just made it worse. Knowing what a blow job was didn’t mean she understood good technique. Well, too bad for him. A surge of anger made her defiant, all sense of embarrassment, shame, and fear forgotten.

“Next time you blackmail someone into performing fellatio,” she snapped, “make sure your victim has had some practice beforehand.”

“Well, Mudblood.” One of his hands crept behind her head while the other rested on her shoulder. His tone was soft but threatening. It scared her. “If you’re unable to perform on your own…” The grip on her shoulder and scalp tightened as his voice lowered menacingly. “I’ll fuck your mouth instead.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

_Dangerous._

His meaning was clear: either she did her best to give him a halfway-decent blow job, or he’d take over. She did _not_ want him to take over.

“Open.” His voice was dark and menacing. Such a contrast in tone from their shared Firewhisky not five minutes before.

Not waiting for him to force himself into her mouth, Hermione decided to go on the offensive and take matters into her own hands, so to speak.

The prat wanted to be licked first? Fine. She would lick him. Anger replaced her fear. She’d lick every goddamn inch of his stupid, spoiled cock.

While still holding him at the base, she opened her mouth and licked up the sides, around the base again, and to the tip. As her tongue glided over him, she looked up at him in defiance. Her anger and determination made her rough in handling him, but he didn’t seem to mind. Malfoy was back to his silent stare, and though his hand still rested in her hair, his grip was relaxed and… Gentle? She continued as she gazed at him, lathing him up and down and swirling her tongue around the tip. The latter resulted in a shallow pelvic thrust.

_Good._

He seemed determined not to make any noises of pleasure to encourage her, or to offer any further words of instruction to help her understand what to do or what he liked. That only made her more irate, more focused on making him react. His small involuntary movements and labored breathing told her she was on the right track. She did the same routine licking him up, down, and all around. Her saliva was everywhere; it was a mess. All over him, all over her mouth and cheeks, dripping from her chin. She didn’t care.

Shifting her eyes back to his manhood, she saw that his balls had shifted slightly upward.

 _That_ looked encouraging.

She wondered if he’d enjoy being touched there, too. With her other hand, she cupped his scrotum and fondled his sack gently, grazing her nails lightly on the underside. His fingers clenched on her shoulder and scalp in response, and she felt a bolt of smug satisfaction spill into her gut. Drawing away a short distance, she looked at his penis. Though his skin was smooth, it was also crossed with ridges and veins. Were they sensitive? She leaned forward and licked, pressing the flat of her tongue against the bottom vein. Nothing. She pointed her tongue, pressing harder, and traced the indentations of his shaft, up, down, and around. He began to make involuntary movements with his pelvis, and his grip on her would occasionally tighten.

And yet, the arrogant prick remained silent, refusing to give any sounds, words of encouragement, or any other indication that she was doing things correctly. She glanced up and was thrown by the heat and intensity in his gaze.

Well, there was certainly _that_.

“Suck.” He almost croaked the command.

Finally. She pressed her lips over his tip and sucked the skin into her mouth before swallowing him as much as she could, down to her hand at the base of his shaft. His body trembled.

“Errmmfffffff.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but he clearly couldn’t form the words. She grinned inwardly.

Rendered speechless, indeed.

Fuck you, Draco Malfoy.

She could tell that he was still restraining himself. Eager to make him break his sodding effort to maintain his silence, she slid his cock in and out of her mouth. He was too long to take all the way into her mouth, so she kept her palm wrapped around the base and squeezed as her mouth sank down on him. She felt his legs shake, so she did it again. And again. And again.

The hand on her shoulder gripped her tightly as he shuddered, emitting a long, low groan. Feeling a perverse victory that her mouth had finally brought him out of his stoic silence, Hermione attacked his length with renewed vigor, bobbing her head at a faster pace. Continuing to experiment, she tried pressing hard with her tongue as her mouth slid up and down his length. His fingers dug into her shoulder and scalp as he bucked forward, holding her still.

“Swallowerrrrgggggghhhhh.” The word turned into a grunting whine as he bucked once, twice. Then she felt his hot seed spurt into the back of her mouth while his legs and hands shook. It seemed like a lot to Hermione, but she had nothing to compare it to. She swallowed as best she could and coughed around his member, abruptly releasing it from her mouth after his hand loosened its grip on her head. 

Her face was a mess.

She eyed the material of his boxers around his thighs and pulled it forward, wiping everything off of her mouth, chin and cheeks. 

So there.

 _Arsehole_.

As she leaned back on her heels, Hermione reflected on what had just occurred. All in all, the whole experience could have been much worse. Certainly the ending wasn’t particularly _pleasant,_ but the taste hadn’t been terrible. It reminded her of… Salad dressing?

Movement from the corner of her eye roused her from her thoughts. Draco sagged, then dropped to the floor, sitting against the back of the couch. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was slightly damp, but his eyes… The look in his eyes made her want to do that to him all over again.

 _Damn_ him.

“Not bad for your first time,” he said with a lazy grin. “Sloppy, but good. Be more careful with the teeth.”

“Well, maybe if you provided a little _instruction_ beyond the occasional single syllable word, I would have been,” she said resentfully. And why the hell did it even matter how good it was anyway? The sodding ponce could go wank himself.

“Swal-low,” he said, counting the syllables with his fingers, still wearing that post-coital smile. “It was more entertaining watching you figure things out on your own.”

Hermione glanced back at the clock. Only four and a half hours to go. She’d survived fellating Malfoy, and now she felt more confident that she could handle whatever else he was going to throw at her.

_S_ _he could do this._

With a tired groan of satisfaction, he slumped over to lie on the floor in front of her, his breaths coming more evenly. She did _not_ look at his cock, which rested limply across his thigh. She wouldn’t look _again_ , anyway, and got up to go to the bathroom to wash her face and hands.

“I’ve never seen anyone look my dick like it was an Arithmancy problem before,” he called out, still somewhat breathless as she walked into the loo.

“Sadly, it was a rather _small_ Arithmancy problem,” she called back.

She slammed the door behind her to the sound of his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the reviews. I love them!


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione contemplated her situation while she had a few minutes to herself in the bathroom. So far, the evening hadn’t been terrible. It had been scary for a minute, when he had threatened to fuck her mouth. But when she’d followed his commands and responded with enthusiasm, he hadn’t followed through on the threat. Malfoy had said he wanted to hurt her when drawing up the contract, but he had healed her twice now for relatively minor things.

She couldn’t make sense of him. What he _said_ and what he _did_ were contradictory.

The moment they had shared with the Firewhisky was strange. Malfoy knew that sucking him off would be difficult for her. He had encouraged her to loosen up and given her a chance to collect herself.

He went back and forth between teasing her, flirting with her, and ordering her around. Degrading her. Calling her Mudblood. Healing her. She didn’t understand it.

Ultimately, he was enacting some sort of fantasy with her. Although it hadn’t been bad so far, how she fared would ultimately depend on what his fantasies entailed. And whatever was in his sodding bag. Clearly, a part of him was getting off on blood purity bigotry: that she was inferior to him and made to serve him. Although, when taken in context with his other actions this week and this evening, Hermione wasn’t sure how much he believed in that himself.

She wondered at her threat of a two-fold retaliation. In theory, she could demand that he eat her out until she came. Twice. She considered it briefly. If he was the sort that didn’t enjoy cunnilingus, maybe she _would_ make him do it. Retaliation wasn’t so much about what _she_ wanted but more about making him do things that he didn’t want to do. He probably _did_ enjoy performing oral sex. Everything about him was so sexual. She didn’t have a problem imagining him between her legs.

Would it feel good? Probably.

Even if it did, she wanted this night to be done with and to never have to touch him again. Having him eat her out in retaliation wasn’t much of a threat at all if she didn’t want it done to her, or if he would enjoy it.

She would stick with using him as a foot rest for now. That actually sounded like fun. She laughed at the thought of balancing her feet and a few cups and dishes on him. Maybe she’d have him wash her feet and massage them as well, but she had a feeling he would make it far more sexual than she intended. Certainly a back massage was a no-go. Although… She shuddered with a flush of desire. She desperately wanted to feel his hands on her body.

Hermione finished cleaning herself up and opened the loo door to see him standing in the doorway. She yelped in surprise.

“You’re a screamer, Granger? Why am I not surprised?”

She blushed, first from him flirting with her, then in anger. She was tired of this smug prat intimidating her with sexual innuendos.

“Please. You were awfully vocal for what was _clearly_ a sub-par blow job.” He was partially blocking the exit, so she forced her way past him, knocking him in the chest with her shoulder on her way to the kitchenette.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Enthusiasm makes up for poor technique.”

She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. “If you think I care what your opinion is of my ability to blow your pint sized prick, then you’re not just arrogant. You’re completely delusional.”

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “Your willingness to please says otherwise.”

She took a long drink and wiped her mouth with her hand. “Clearly the threat of you gagging me with your penis had nothing to do with it.”

“You sound disappointed that I didn’t.” Malfoy disappeared into the loo and shut the door before she could respond.

_Arsehole! He is such a sodding arsehole!_

She let out a frustrated shriek.

After a moment of breathing heavily, she finished her water and then stared at his duffle bag on the kitchen counter. He was in the loo; she could take a peek. She tapped her fingers against the counter in thought. It was so tempting. The bag was right there. She glanced back at the closed bathroom door. How long would he be? Would she have time to look inside the bag?

To open or not to open...

She narrowed her eyes at the bag. He’d probably know that she had looked, and she would _not_ give him that satisfaction. What purpose would it serve? If she saw a whip in there, she’d _know_ how bad it was going to get. Then again, if there really wasn’t much in there, she’d know he was only going to hurt her with… himself.

He wasn’t winning this game.

She walked away so she wouldn’t be tempted to open the bag and started pacing across the common room.

Walking without knickers was uncomfortable, but pacing gave her something to do. At least he would need some time to recover. She didn’t know how much time he would need, but there’s no way he could go again so quickly after that.

Could he?

Malfoy emerged from the bathroom in just his trousers, and she stopped and turned to face him. He wiped his face with a towel, looked over at his bag, and then shifted his gaze back to her.

“My mother.”

She furrowed her brows in confusion. “What’s that?”

“My mother,” he repeated. “She taught me how to heal.”

“Oh.” Hermione was thrown by the change of subject. “Was that… Did she…” She didn’t think rich, pure-blood wives worked in any capacity, and clearly Narcissa Malfoy wouldn’t have a hidden career as a Healer. Perhaps it was part of comportment lessons? Finishing school?

“It became necessary,” was his vague explanation. “So we both learned.”

She watched as he wiped his neck and chest and tossed his hand towel back onto the bathroom sink. She didn’t know what to say. His life sounded terrifying.

“No more questions, Granger?” he asked softly, quietly approaching her.

She swallowed and looked up at him. “Lots, actually.”

He chuckled mirthlessly and pulled on a curl of her hair, releasing it and letting it spring back. “Some other time, then.”

His pensive expression turned sultry.

“You’re wearing more clothing than I am. Strip,” he ordered, breaking the spell between them.

Hermione felt an adrenaline rush at his command. She took a few paces back, stumbled, and caught herself. He remained impassive, observing her with that smug, superior expression, and shoved his hands in his pockets again.

Knowing he derived _way_ too much enjoyment from her struggling with her embarrassment and fear, she got to work. She toed off her shoes and sat down on the footrest to remove her knee highs. One by one, she peeled them down her calves, balled them up, and placed them in her shoes. She undid the knot in her tie, tugging the strip of material through her collar a bit too forcefully, and draped it on the armchair.

The shoes, socks, and tie had been easy. Now she had to remove her shirt, bra, and skirt. She could barely remove Malfoy’s clothing; she didn’t know if she could remove her own in front of him like this. She peered over at him, fingers toying with the top-most button on her blouse. Of course he wasn’t any help, just standing there, watching her expectantly.

Maybe she should take a bit more Firewhisky. She wasn’t drunk, or even tipsy. She walked back to the kitchen counter and poured a small amount into her glass. She was about to knock it back when Malfoy admonished her.

“It should be _savored_ , Granger.”

That wasn’t a direct command. She didn’t have to obey. She glared at him, knocked the whisky back, and slammed the glass on the counter. Bugger him and his 300 Galleon bottle. He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at her.

If she could hold onto her anger, she could repress her shame and power through this.

_Prat. Git. Arsehole. Prick. Fucking bigoted elitist spoiled pure-blood Death Eater._

Hermione flared her nostrils, righted her shoulders, and proceeded to undo the buttons of her shirt. Malfoy’s eyes followed her hands as the strip of skin on her chest and stomach was exposed, and the cloth of her white cotton bra appeared. She tugged the shirt out of her skirt, finished off the buttons, and removed it, draping it over the armchair with her tie. Her breasts weren’t exactly large, but he didn’t seem to care. He leered at her chest while she reached behind her back, unclasping her bra. The straps became loose, and she allowed them to fall down her arms so she could toss it aside to the armchair. His gaze was heated, but she felt cold all over, and her nipples hardened in response. He wasn’t even pretending to look anywhere else.

Almost done. She took a breath and reached around for the zipper on her skirt.

“Stop.” His voice rang deep. “Leave it on.”

Her hands dropped, and he sauntered over to her. Her heart was beating so fast and so loudly. A skirt didn’t mean much when you weren’t wearing knickers.

“Better than I imagined,” he muttered under his breath.

Hermione had thought she would be too skinny for someone like him. Not voluptuous like Pansy or Lavender or some of the other girls in their year who received a lot of male attention. She wondered if some of her exercises in preparation for this year on the run had given her some muscle tone, and if he even noticed such a thing.

Whatever.

She didn’t give a sodding, flying _fuck_ what he thought of her.

Malfoy circled her lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. His hands were still in his pockets, and just when she was feeling grateful that he was keeping them to himself, he reached out and flicked her nipple, sending a surprising jolt of arousal through her and she jumped.

He stopped in front of her, still studying her breasts. He followed the flick with a squeeze to her other breast, gently at first and then harder, making her yelp until he released her. He raised his eyes to hers; she looked up at him defiantly. He smirked and reached out, pinching both of her nipples. She trembled slightly at the contact, and he increased the pressure, pinching her harder and biting his lip as he did so. She felt her core heat. Her inner walls clenched with want. Her throat constricted and, to her mortification, she made a small whimper. He pinched harder so that it became painful.

“Aaaahh!” she cried out, grasping his wrists.

With a wicked gleam in his eye, Malfoy released the pressure on her nipples. But before she could sigh in relief, he pulled on them. Her lips parted, and she swayed forward, emitting a small whimper and almost stumbling into him. He watched her face closely, and she hated that she couldn’t do anything to mitigate her reaction to his fondling. He released her again. Her hot, desirous need to be filled returned with a vengeance.

He ambled around, stopping right behind her. She felt her shoulders tense. Now what?

“Lift your skirt.”

What? He wanted her to… Display herself for his perusal? The idea of it was more humiliating than simply being naked. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

_Horcruxes._

Hermione fingered the hem of her skirt at her sides, crumpled it in her fingers, and brought it up her waist, pulling the material up from behind her.

Nothing.

Silence.

Malfoy knew the waiting and anticipation of what he would do next just made it worse. After a few more seconds, his palm slithered along the skin of her backside. She rocked forward at the contact, and he followed the movement, cupping her bum and lifting her right cheek slightly, as if weighing it. She felt her inner walls clench at his touch.

“Checking the goods?” she said snarkily, annoyed that he would probably be seeing evidence of her arousal. Or feeling it.

She shivered as his hot breath blew against her ear from behind. “Exactly.”

As he palmed her arse cheek, he reached around with his other hand to grab her left breast. She bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together. He massaged both for a second, and then squeezed hard. She whimpered and dropped her skirt to grab his wrists and try and pry his hands off of her. But he did not lessen his grip.

“Malfoy, that hurts.” The pitch of her voice had risen.

“Good,” he whispered in her ear, and she shivered. He gave her breast and arse cheek one last squeeze before dropping his hands. “Lift your skirt, and don’t let go this time.” Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted her skirt, exposing herself to him again.

“Bend over.”

Bend over? Was he going to fuck her like this?

Slowly, Hermione bent over, head hanging down. She swayed forward, and he placed a warm hand on her backside, fingers curving around her hip preventing her from pitching forward. All the blood rushed to her face.

His voice was low and husky. “Spread your legs.”

Oh no. He _was_. He was going to have sex with her like this. Hermione’s heart started pounding with anticipation and fear.

She spread her legs as directed, eyes on the knees of his trousers behind her, upside down. She felt him pull her cheeks apart, and she nearly pitched forward again at the mortifying wave of need that overcame her. He dug his fingers into the flesh of her arse, steadying her. Feeling dizzy from her head hanging upside down, and probably even more so because of the Firewhisky, she raised her head and torso slightly. He was examining her like she was in a piece of meat. He’d see how aroused she was by what he was doing to her. She was absolutely humiliated. She shut her eyes.

“My, my, Mudblood. You’re more than ready for me. Which hole should I take first?”

She looked back at him, terrified. He returned her gaze, taunting, challenging her to answer. He crouched down to a squat so her rear was at his eye level.

“Ladies choice,” he purred.

His thumbs rubbed into the skin of her upper thighs, now slick with her arousal. He pressed small circles closer and closer to her cunt, and then slid up to her anus, teasing her at both entrances. Her legs trembled. She was scared.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t that cruel.

Was he?

He would have fucked her mouth. Was this any different to him? It was the not knowing that was killing her. But that’s what he wanted. He wanted her to drive herself crazy wondering just how far he would go. Hermione felt a puff of his breath across her cunt, and she pitched forward again with a whimper and a clench of her inner walls. He steadied her.

He didn’t say anything, but she knew he was looking at her arse and at the lips of her opening. She breathed in slowly, the seconds of silence ticking on. A small waft of hot air from his – nose? Mouth? – tickled her left butt cheek, and her core tightened in response. She closed her eyes. His intimate, drawn out examination of her was humiliating. And she hated the perverse desire she had in response.

Her cheeks and chest flushed in nervous anticipation. Her legs trembled. She was scared now that it was going to begin, but this had to be done. She’d messed up, and this was the price.

“Should I check to see just how wet you are?” he teased in that low voice.

In a brief flash of anger, she turned back and said defiantly, “Why ask? It doesn’t _matter_ what I say, you’ll do what you want.” Anger was good: it made her forget how ashamed she was at this level of depravity.

His grey eyes were full of naughty promise. “Do you want me to?”

“No,” she said reflexively and instantly regretted it.

“Tell the truth.”

She bit her lip and felt like a schoolgirl that had been caught lying to her teacher. Her cunt pulsed at his scolding. In truth, she wanted friction, touch, contact, _anything_. She did. Right now, she absolutely did. Damn him for making her admit it. She wanted him inside her.

“Yes.” Her voice croaked with the admission.

He leaned in closer, and she felt his hot breath on her opening. She thought he would kiss her or lick her, but he paused, his lips just barely touching her. She felt herself clench again, and again. A third time on air, on nothing. The anticipation was driving her mad. And he’d see it all. Malfoy would know just how much she wanted him, wanted to be filled by his tongue, fingers, or cock. She felt a tiny rivulet of liquid trickle down her thigh and closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear this.

Suddenly his finger was there, briefly penetrating her. Hermione bucked forward with a choked yell, and he pulled her back. He swiped over her opening, slick with her wetness and circled her clit before removing his finger entirely. She let out a desperate cry of frustration at the removal of his finger, and her legs buckled. He stood up and caught her before she fell to the ground, holding her bum against him. She could feel his hard length under the fabric of his trousers. She gasped. Just as quickly, he released her.

“Stand up.” 

Her legs trembled as she stood and rolled her neck while he continued his circuit around her. He stopped in front of her, sucking seductively on his finger, and she felt her nipples harden, waiting for his touch, wondering if he would be rough with her again. She was still holding her skirt up in the back. She felt so empty, so unfulfilled. He had penetrated her with his finger. He had touched her clit. And now there was nothing there. He’d left her wanting. She felt cheated and ashamed.

“You taste divine, Mudblood.”

“I’m not dirty?” she spat back, still frustrated from the sharp loss of contact and embarrassed at her reaction. He lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh no,” he answered calmly. “You’re definitely dirty.”

 _He_ was dirty. Foul. Vulgar. Vile. Depraved. Perverse. Filthy. _Ugh!_

Malfoy reached forward to her mouth and ran his thumb along her lower lip. She tingled where he touched her, and she stifled the urge to just bite his sodding thumb off. He pulled down on her lip. She could smell her arousal on his hand.

“Such sharp words from these lips.” His smile was devilish. “I like them much better when they’re stuffed with my cock.”

She flushed and narrowed her eyes at him as his hand fell.

“Lift your skirt from the front.” He took a small step back, perusing her body with feigned disinterest. Her mouth went dry under his gaze. How in the world did he come up with these positions that kept clothing on, but were far more humiliating than being naked?

“I…” Hermione grasped the hem of her skirt but couldn’t bring herself to lift it. Was it that much worse than showing him her rear and bending over?

“ _Now_ , Mudblood.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side. Slowly, she lifted the hem from the front, bunching it up at her waist, exposing herself to him, _sans_ knickers. Her hands clutched around her waistband, fingers digging into the material. Her blood was pounding in her head so loudly that she didn’t hear or feel him close in on her until his mouth was next to her ear.

“Do you want my fingers in your cunt?” came the low, sultry whisper.

She gasped for breath, not realizing that she had been holding it, and her eyes popped open. She saw only his cheek and jaw as he leaned to speak to her ear. He turned his face slowly to her, and that’s when she saw his desire for her blazing through his eyes.

His words were dirty. _She_ was dirty. He made her so.

“Yes.” The word was an exhale onto his lips. “You already know that.”

Was he going to check for her arousal like he had the last time? She felt herself clench again at the thought of his fingers inside her. But he didn’t check. He didn’t do anything to her.

“My tongue?” he continued.

She had been staring at his tongue for a week and a half. Catching glimpses of it when it emerged from between his lips.

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You vile git.”

Malfoy chuckled but didn’t touch her. He backed away slowly and left her wet and wanting, holding up her skirt for him. He stood, hands in his trouser pockets, erection prominent. His expression was dispassionate, slightly amused. It was only his eyes that revealed the intensity of his desire.

“Spread your legs for me, Mudblood.”

 _For him_. He was emphasizing that she was doing all this for him. But she wasn’t. He could be anyone. She was doing it to prevent Voldemort from finding out about their mission. To get her beaded bag back.

“No,” she said steadily while spreading her legs. “Not for you. You could be anyone.”

His eyes flashed in anger, and he reached forward between her legs. Her thighs tensed, expecting his touch, but he paused, giving her a mean smile and doing nothing. She grit her teeth in annoyance. He waited a few seconds more, taunting her, and then swiped shallowly along her slit, between her curls. She bucked forward slightly into his fingers, but again he removed them.

“This,” he said, holding up the evidence of her arousal. “Is for me.”

Moving swiftly, he pushed his fingers into her mouth before she could react. She could taste herself. _Salty, but not bad_ , she thought before her brain caught up with his action. He hadn’t even asked! Or even given her a warning, the complete and utter prick. She felt like spitting on him. She bit him, not lightly, and he smiled wolfishly.

“You can bite me later, Granger.” His voice was sultry. “As much as you like.”

Malfoy pulled on his fingers, and she released him from her teeth. He dragged them over her cheek and down her throat, wiping her saliva and arousal on her skin. He crouched before her and pulled the lips of her sex apart, looking up at her cruelly.

“A pity that Weasel and Scarhead didn’t have the sense to realize how willing your cunt could be. When you see them next-”

_THWACK!_

She smacked him so hard that he’d fallen over onto the ground. Blinking down at her own hand in shock, she scarcely realized what she had done. She hadn’t meant to slap him, to lose control, but hearing him speak about Harry and Ron… The anger that had been building up inside of her had blinded her in that moment.

Still frozen, Hermione watched as he put his hand to his lip and drew it away. There was blood on his fingers. Malfoy looked down at the blood, confused, as if he didn’t quite understand what had happened or how he’d arrived on the floor in front of her.

Her hand stung from the impact. She cradled it, watching Malfoy warily as he looked at his fingers. She took a small step back away from him. He was going to make her pay for that.


	6. Chapter 6

“Malfoy…” Hermione’s voice trembled. “Malfoy, I’m sorry. I didn’t m-”

“No.” He interrupted her with a soft voice that shot chills of terror down her spine. “No, you’re not sorry.” Lithely, he jumped up, tall and imposing as he approached her. “But you _will_ be.”

She took another step back, but he reached out, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her over to the armchair. He was stronger than she was, and she didn’t have much choice but to be pulled along.

“What are you going to do?” She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.

Instead of answering her, he wordlessly grabbed her tie that was hanging over the armrest and spun her around to face away from him, pinning her arm against her back in one quick movement.

Her fear was mounting. This was exactly what she was afraid would happen. It was one thing to be told what to do, and still be the one performing those actions. It was quite another to have things _done_ to her and have absolutely no control.

“Wait, Malfoy. Please!” Hermione knew that she sounded desperate. She didn’t care.

He still didn’t respond, but reached out and yanked her other arm behind her. He held her arms together and wrapped the silk tie around her wrists. Her body jerked with a sudden pull on the material as the tie tightened with a knot, restricting her movement.

“Ow! Malfoy, wait! I can-”

With a sharp tug on her bindings, he pulled her into his chest and brought his lips to her ear. “Too late.”

He pulled roughly on the tie so that she was forced to walk backwards, breasts jutting out in front of her. She looked over her shoulder to try and see where he was taking her, but he just sat down on his armchair. He pulled again, and she stumbled backwards, falling onto his lap. Before she had a chance to get her bearings, he pushed her over the side of the arm rest so her arse was in the air. He shifted his leg to rest atop her calves, locking her legs down and pinning her in place. She squirmed in response, but he held her in a tight grip. She couldn’t move. With one hand, he flipped her skirt up so that it covered her bound wrists, and placed his palm, gently, on her left arse cheek.

“Any last requests, Mudblood?” The blood rushed to her head, and she stared at the curls of her hair, hanging down to the floor. Her breasts felt strange and uncomfortable, hanging free at this angle with no support. His fingers twitched against her arse.

Her two-fold threat was the only thing she had. “Malfoy,” she pleaded. She was truly scared. “Remember - when this is over I can spank you twice as hard. And twice as much!”

He chuckled darkly. “I sincerely hope you do. How about ten? Then you can give me twenty. Tell you what. You can smack me just as much as you want.”

Oh _fuck!_

What the hell was wrong with him? She squeezed her eyes tight and tensed for the blow. At least she wouldn’t have to look at him while he did it.

“Count.”

The contact with his hand disappeared, and Hermione braced herself. _Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod_! She felt a brief rush of wind and then-

_SMACK!_

She cried out and tried to buck out of his grip. It _hurt!_

“Count or I’ll add more.”

“One!” she snarled at him.

THWACK!

She yelled again. Her skin stung.

“Two!”

She squirmed, trying to get away, but his leg tightened, pinning her more securely in place.

“Are you sorry that you smacked me, Mudblood?” he asked while rubbing the hurt cheek, sending electric tingles to her core. Was… was she getting even wetter?

“Yes! Damn it!”

“I don’t think you’re sorry enough,” he replied dismissively.

SMACK!

She shrieked as his hand came down on her right cheek. She squeezed her arse, making the lips of her vagina throb.

“Aaaaah! Three!” She wriggled uselessly. She couldn’t control the impulse to struggle against her bonds. Her body had to do _something_ in the face of his onslaught. She couldn’t take it and stay still.

“I am, I am sorry! Malfoy, _please_ stop!”

“Do you know what a filthy girl you are?”

THWACK!

Hermione felt tears forming in her eyes. The sting on her right cheek hadn’t even receded before he’d smacked her there again. She felt hot all over, the tingle and burn of her rear end almost unbearable. But she felt herself clench, again. She wanted to be _touched_.

“Four!”

“You were absolutely dripping when I ordered you to service me.” He rubbed one cheek, then the other. She could hear him breathing heavily.

“Shut up, Malfoy!” she screamed at him, needing an outlet for the pain.

SMACK!

His hand landed on her upper thigh, providing a reprieve from her bruised derriere but hurting even more so since there was less cushion. She tried to move again, but his arm held her in place.

“Five!” She kicked her feet against the other arm rest. It was painful, but each smack heightened the need to be touched, rubbed, filled. All other thoughts fled her mind as her concentration zeroed in on three things - the sting of his palm, the panicked anticipation of the next strike, and the need for relief that built with every moment.

“You loved it when I used you like a fucking piece of furniture.”

THWACK!

“Six!” she whined as his hand landed on her other upper thigh. “Please stop!” His thumb was near her core. If he would just move it lower. She tried to shift, but he wouldn’t let her.

“I saw your cunt clench when I called you a Mudblood.”

She squeezed her butt cheeks together and gasped at the friction it caused between her legs. Her lips must be extremely swollen now.

“So what! You’re such a-”

SMACK!

He hit her stinging cheeks again.

“Seven! Malfoy!” she pleaded. “This really hurts, please!” She squeezed her cheeks together again, trying to do something to alleviate the pain, but again rubbing her nether region in the process.

“You were practically _creaming_ yourself when I examined you like a broodmare.”

“Go to hell!”

The hits came more quickly.

THWACK!

“Eight!” she wailed and tried to buck out of his hold. The space between her legs was hot and pulsing.

“You’re absolutely filthy.”

“You’re disgusting!” she spat back.

SMACK!

“Nine!” she sobbed, real tears coming out of her eyes. If he would only touch her _there_.

“You _want_ to be used by me.”

“Fuck you! You’re sicker than I am, Mal-”

THWACK!

“Aaah! Ten!” Hermione screamed and bucked, his arm tightening around her, restricting her movements again.

“I’d bet my last Knut that you’re on the edge of coming _right now_.”

His middle finger suddenly entered her cunt, his other fingers splayed against her butt cheeks, and she choked, gasping and falling slack. She felt herself contracting around him again and again as a warm electricity zapped from her core through her body. The pain she had just experienced made the pleasure that much more acute.

Hermione gasped for breath, hanging over the armrest, held in place by him with his finger in her cunt. She clenched around his digit and squirmed. Slowly, Malfoy extracted his finger to the tip and then pushed it in again.

“Oh god!” she sucked in air and tried to push herself out towards him from her awkward position over the armrest, trying to increase the contact. He rewarded her by repeating the motion. She keened and moaned as it slipped back in. He was stretching her, and it felt _so good_. She wanted more. His finger was long, and she could feel every inch as it moved inside her. She tried not to picture what she must look like, shoving her arse at Malfoy, trying to fuck his hand. She didn’t care. The skin of her rear was hot and stinging, and she just wanted to be filled.

“Another finger, Granger?”

“Yes!” she gasped.

“Beg.”

_To hell with him!_

“Please!”

“Please what?”

She shrieked in frustration. “Please put your motherfu-” She choked another gasp as he extracted his finger and pushed two inside of her. Stretching her, curling up and sliding in and out.

“Do you want to come?”

He wanted her to beg. She didn’t care. “Yes! Please make me come! You sodding -”

Malfoy’s thumb swiped her clit, and she growled something unintelligible. She kept trying to push back against him while his fingers reached deep. His thumb circled her clit, then swiped and rubbed until Hermione felt her orgasm blast through her.

She gritted her teeth and then shrieked, hanging over the armrest. Her walls fluttered and tightened around his fingers as wave after wave coursed through her. He slowly circled her clit as she came down, swiping lightly again and again. As she shuddered and whimpered, the tie around her hands loosened. The fabric was pulled away, and she let her arms fall to her sides. She was boneless and simply sagged over the armrest.

After a few seconds breathing slowly, Malfoy removed his leg from atop her calves and gently pulled her up onto his lap. He cradled her into his chest, careful with her tender rear end. His thumbs rubbed circular patterns on her spine and into her back. She didn’t have the energy to do anything aside from melt into him and his touch, allowing the pent up tension from this evening to slowly leave her body.

She lay against him in silence and wiped at her tears. His thumbs worked her back slowly, tenderly, methodically. It was… Nice. She closed her eyes and received the comfort for a few minutes.

“Malfoy?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming. Her lips brushed the skin of his chest.

“Mmmm?” His voice vibrated from within him.

Hopefully he would heal her, like he did earlier. “My arse really hurts,” she said, sniffling.

Cradling her to his chest with one arm, he reached for his wand and summoned a jar from his room. She tensed as he deftly caught it in his hand. It had a purplish gel inside. Hermione recognized Madam Pomfrey’s writing on the label.

“Relax, Granger.” She could feel him smirking into her hair. “I nicked this from the infirmary for when I’m sore from Quidditch,” he explained.

Her eyes widened as she remembered the contract stipulation he’d rejected about not needing Madam Pomfrey to heal her. Maybe this was all he meant. And if so, then she didn’t need to worry about knives, broken bones, and other violent acts. She could take a spanking. It hurt, it was embarrassing, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to look the wretched little shit in the eyes again. But all things considered, it wasn’t too bad.

Honestly, the worst part of being spanked was that she’d _liked_ it so much.

He stopped rubbing his thumb into her back and reached around her to unscrew the cap from the jar. Hermione sat up and took it from him.

“I’ll do it.”

If he wasn’t going to force her to let him heal her, she didn’t want him to. Even being held by him was too intimate. She had needed time to recover after that (magnificent, mind-blowing, body-numbing, bloody fantastic) orgasm, and from the pain in her rear. Now there was no need for him to be so close.

Hermione stood up. His hands slipped off her body, and she glanced back. He looked disappointed but didn’t say anything, letting her go. She turned around and walked towards the loo, flicking her eyes to the clock as she walked past. Four hours left.

With each footfall, she wondered if he would order her to turn around so that he could rub the salve on her himself, but he was quiet. She entered and closed the door of the bathroom behind her, happy for some privacy and a few minutes for her thoughts.

Clearly, there were some lines that he wasn’t willing to cross in this arrangement. The thought was mildly comforting, as was the discovery that Malfoy wasn’t going to cause her severe pain. She thought back to the disappointed look on his face when she had taken the jar from him. Perhaps ordering her to stay so he could heal her would put him at a psychological disadvantage, and that’s why he didn’t do it. Wanting to heal her was different from wanting to spank her. She could hold it over him. It hardly meshed with the domineering, snarky, sexual tone he’d been projecting this evening. The previous times he had healed her, he had asked if she wanted it, not ordered her to accept it.

She uncapped the jar and spread some of the purple paste onto her rear end, sighing as it dissolved into her skin. There was a calm, cooling sensation, and the stinging hurt completely disappeared.

Good stuff. Malfoy knew what he was doing. Again, she thought back to his reason for learning healing and felt a deep-seated sympathy for him. Learning healing to deal with the war. The war had come to him and his family much sooner than it had to hers.

 _Bellatrix._ Hermione shuddered.

She leaned forward on the counter and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was all over the place, her cheeks were pink, her brown eyes bright and glassy. Her chest and neck were flushed red. She looked like she’d been shagged several times over.

Malfoy had obviously planned on spanking her at some point tonight, as evidenced by the jar of healing ointment he’d had at the ready. But what had just happened was spontaneous - a response to her slap. She’d fought back physically against him, and he wasn’t having it.

So. Verbal retorts he didn’t mind; indeed, he seemed to enjoy them. Hermione had pretty much been running her mouth all night with no repercussions. However, he had drawn the line at obeying him and now, there was a cost for rebelling against him physically.

What she was really scared of was anal sex. He’d threatened it. Just like he had threatened to fuck her mouth. And maybe he’d still go through with it. Even if he would heal her afterwards, it would still be a painful experience. More painful than being spanked, she was sure, depending on how careful he was - _if_ he would be careful at all. The situation was terrifying, allowing someone you didn’t trust to have control over your body like that.

But maybe her two-fold threat wasn’t so useless after all. Ultimately, it would depend on what he really wanted her to do to him, and what he didn’t. Thinking back on his words when she’d reminded him of the clause, she considered the relish with which he’d described her spanking and biting him. Now she understood why he’d agreed to it: he wanted her to be in control of his actions. He wanted her to spank him, to bite him, to order him around. To give him pain. And he wanted to service her like she had been doing to him.

She wondered why. It went completely against everything his side of the war was fighting for.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione emerged from the loo and saw Malfoy still sitting in the armchair, quiet in contemplation. His erection had receded, and she wondered what he was thinking. She had stripped for him, he’d poked and prodded her body in completely intrusive and humiliating ways, and then she’d slapped him. He had deviated from whatever he had planned with the spanking - maybe he was trying to get back on track? She didn’t know what he had intended on doing to her after she stripped, but clearly spanking her and making her come wasn’t it.

His eyes shifted to her in interest. “It’s always the quiet ones.”*

“Excuse me?”

Malfoy got up and sauntered over to her. “You’re a complete sexual deviant, Granger. Maybe even more so than I am. Who would have guessed?”

“What of it?” She didn’t even bother denying it at this point. Hermione had learned more about herself tonight than she’d ever wanted to know, and with _him_ of all people. If she denied it or acted ashamed, he’d only use it against her.

He smiled and looked off to the side. “Nothing, it’s just surprising.”

She furrowed her brows. What had he said? “You think I’m _quiet?”_ She may not be as boisterous as some of the Weasleys or Lavender or Seamus, but she wasn’t _quiet_. “I speak up in class all the time and I’ve never shied away from making my opinions known. Not to my friends, not to _you_ , not to our professors, not to _anyone_.”

He reached out and palmed her breast, stroking the curve lightly and then kneading the flesh. She swayed as her desire reignited within her. Malfoy’s cheeks reddened.

“You’re more insulted when I call you quiet than perverted and sexually deviant.” He looked at her appraisingly and smirked. “Alright then, it’s always the swotty ones.”

His second hand moved to join the first, and he gently fondled both her breasts. His touch was light, almost tentative; she had to bite back a whimper.

Instead, she scoffed, but didn’t sound nearly as dismissive as she intended to be. “Right. Then Ravenclaw tower would have a secret chamber full of sex toys.”

“Sex… toys?” he repeated questioningly, eyebrows raised.

Her eyes widened. Of course. He may be sexually experienced, but the Wizarding world was far more traditional than the Muggle world in some areas. Many things didn’t exist or did not have a magical equivalent. Being a pure-blood elitist put Malfoy at a distinct disadvantage in this regard. And he obviously wouldn’t have access to the internet.

She certainly wasn’t going to educate him, lest he get any ideas. “Like whips and chains,” she clarified. He had already mentioned them.

He plucked at her nipples, causing her legs to tremble.

It seemed he knew she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. “I’ve never heard anyone call them ‘sex toys’ before.”

He slid his hands around to her back, drawing her closer to him.

“It’s a Muggle expression,” she replied, her tone challenging. “You wouldn’t know.”

“Huh.” His thumbs stroked up and down her back, giving her chills.

She wondered if wizards like Malfoy understood just how little they knew about the world around them. Their disdain for everything Muggle resulted in an appalling level of ignorance. He didn’t seem insulted by her statement, but contemplative. He studied her expression.

“It doesn’t bother you?” she asked. “There’s eight billion people in the world, and you don’t know anything about them.”

“Billion?” His voice held a tone of disbelief, but not towards her. Clearly, he had been taught something else but recognized that she would be a better source on this topic in particular.

“Yes, eight billion. The wizarding world is extremely small and narrow in comparison.”

Hermione stared up at him defiantly. _That’s right, Malfoy. There’s a whole fucking world out there you know nothing about._ She wondered what he was thinking now. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes, but before she could say anything else he unzipped her skirt. It fell down to the floor around her ankles, leaving her completely naked before him.

 _Oh_.

He was done with small talk.

Malfoy slid his hands over her rear and pressed her into him. She brought her hands up to rest lightly on the muscles of his chest. His erection pressed against his trousers, back in full force. His hands kneaded the flesh of her arse and a finger slipped down her crack. She jerked forward as he applied pressure, his motions gentle. Not inside her hole, but close. Teasing.

“Touch yourself. I’ll watch.”

She flushed at his words. His finger continued to probe the entrance to her anus, and she huffed a breath.

“Here? Now?”

Hermione wasn’t exactly eager to masturbate in front of him, but she wanted to get his finger away from her arsehole. He dug his fingers into one of her cheeks, drawing a whimper.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She looked around the room, trying to figure out where a good place to masturbate would be. His hand crept around her hip towards her front and his finger dipped lower all the way to her slit. She shuddered at the contact.

“Always so wet, Granger,” he whispered into her ear.

“You’re a walking erection,” she retorted.

His eyes crinkled with his smile. “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

She meant to roll her eyes, but her pelvis jerked forward as his finger slid back and forth between her folds. Her lips parted while he touched her. He reached back around towards her arse, his finger making a slow, hot wet path back to her anus, and he inserted his fingertip into her. Hermione wobbled and let out a grunt, quickly pushing away from him.

He knew she was scared of anal play, and he didn’t need whips and chains to hurt her. She had to think of something – and soon – otherwise he would force her. She looked at the clock. Eight thirty. She thought of everything that they had done up until now, and the time wasn’t even half up. There was no way she could waste enough time to prevent it from happening; she’d have to talk her way out of it.

In the meantime, she now had to masturbate in front of him. She glanced over at the couch. That would probably be the most comfortable place for it.

“There,” she said, pointing to the couch.

Malfoy nodded, grabbed his wand, and turned the couch and coffee table back around the way it had been before Hermione had moved them. She stood, looking dumbly at the sofa, and wondered how to begin.

He approached her from behind and cupped her breast. “If you don’t want to touch yourself, I could bend you over the armrest and take you now,” he spoke into her ear.

She looked back up at him. He had a wolfish smile on his face.

She straightened her shoulders, shook his hand off, and walked over to the couch in as dignified a manner as she could. His palm landed on her arse cheek with a quick smack. She shrieked and jumped, grabbing herself from behind as he laughed. He jumped lithely onto the couch as she walked over and stretched his long legs out across the cushions.

He raised his eyebrows impertinently. “Do you even know how?”

She sent him a withering glance, not dignifying his question with an answer. Did she even know how. As if Victor hadn’t served as the inspiration for her first fantasies, years ago.

She sat down across from him on the other end of the couch, propping a pillow up against the armrest. While she made herself comfortable, she realized with a start that he had essentially goaded her in the same way as when she had gone down on him. Her attempt had been half-hearted and unsure, so he’d threatened to fuck her mouth and had subtly challenged her ability.

What a sodding manipulative prick.

She looked at him warily. He wore a self-satisfied expression, completely at ease and waiting for her to perform. According to her agreement, she had to do what he said. But she couldn’t really fake enthusiasm: she had to find that within herself. He had brought that enthusiasm out of her with a combination of threats and digs at her competency. She had no idea if he intended to follow through on his threats, and she didn’t want to call his bluff. What if he wasn’t bluffing?

She could masturbate. She just needed to start.

She looked down at herself. She sat cross-legged, facing towards him.

“Spread your legs, Granger.”

Right.

Hermione flushed. She had spread her legs in front of him before. This position was arguably more embarrassing, but she didn’t feel as nervous or inhibited as she had earlier. Not after everything that had happened. She uncrossed one leg, leaned it against the back of the couch and extended her other, resting her foot on the coffee table.

She looked up at Malfoy. His hands were folded on his stomach, and he had that same dispassionate expression on his face that he’d had when she went down on him.

“Malfoy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you be a _tad_ more expressive?”

He barked a laugh, and then his expression shifted into one more determined as he unzipped his trousers. She watched him lift his bum off the couch and push his trousers and boxer shorts down his legs, kicking them onto the floor.

He leaned forward: tall, pale, and masculine. He rose onto his knees before her, licked his hand, and reached down to stroke his cock with a feral look in his eye. She felt herself contract, watching his hand squeeze his penis, seeing the muscles of his thighs and abdomen strain as he fisted himself.

“Expressive enough for you, Granger?” Malfoy’s voice came out in a low growl.

Her mouth went dry, watching him stroke himself. “Yes.”

Tentatively, she reached down and pushed her finger inside herself. It wasn’t as good as when he had done it, but she was confident she would get herself off. Especially if he kept _looking_ at her that way while he touched himself.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice rumbled.

“Hexing you,” was her breathy response.

His lips quirked upwards. He looked like he was going to laugh. “What else?”

She rubbed her clit, keening as a jolt of pleasure ran through her, and threw her head back.

“Tying you up, forcing you to your knees…”

He groaned. “Merlin, Granger you have no idea.” His voice was low and his expression teasing, but she could hear the desire behind his words. It was deeper than what he was projecting.

“Making you apologize to – _aaaah!_ – Hagrid for being such a little shite in third year.”

He laughed at the unexpected turn of her thoughts. The cushions of the couch shifted as Malfoy approached her on his knees. He settled between her legs, and Hermione could see pre-come at the tip of his cock as he squeezed, his body trembling with each stroke.

She spread her folds so she would have better access to her clit. His lips parted as he breathed heavily, watching her movements. She slipped her fingers inside herself to gather more moisture and rubbed herself faster, arching her back upward. Malfoy continued fisting himself, his arm and shoulder tensing and flexing with each movement as he watched her intently.

He raised his hand to his mouth and licked again, bringing it back down to continue stroking. He was so sexy, and so _male_. She didn’t even try to hide that she was enjoying the view. Looking into his eyes, looking at his body, watching his hand move in a steady rhythm. She rubbed herself faster. She was on the precipice, almost there...

Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed, and he moved her hand away from her clit, pinning her wrist against the couch. She bucked in protest and opened her eyes with a whimper. At first she thought he wouldn’t let her come, but then he lowered himself down and covered her vulva with his lips.

His mouth was hot, wet, and open, and she thrust her pelvis forward with a cry. He lay down on the couch and settled down with his head between her thighs, hands spreading her legs apart. That wicked tongue of his that she had been watching - licking his fingers as he flipped book pages, licking crumbs of his thumb, licking droplets from his lips after he drank – was now lathing her folds and pressing on her clit.

She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer. His grey eyes locked onto hers, searing her. She was almost there again, and she moaned, pleading with him, giving him incoherent instructions.

_T_ _here. Faster. Lighter. No, no, go back. Lower. Right there. Yes. No, that’s too - Omigod Malfoy!_

He sucked her clit into his mouth, and Hermione bucked into his face as her orgasm blasted through her. He licked her folds as she came down, chest heaving, and she let go of his hair, her hands falling slack on her stomach while her heartbeat slowed.

Malfoy pushed himself up to look down at her, and she at once understood his earlier comment about stuffing her mouth with his cock. His lips were wet with saliva and her arousal. She wouldn’t ever be able to look at his mouth again without imagining what it could do, what it would feel like. That mouth which had been teasing her, taunting her, flirting with her. He was so bloody talented. He licked his lips and she felt another coil of desire tighten within her anew.

He narrowed his eyes at her and laid back on the couch. “Suck me off, Mudblood.”

Easy.

She was boneless and compliant, sitting up to crawl between his legs. Blow jobs didn’t faze her anymore.

“Turn around,” he ordered her.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“I want to lick you again while you suck me off.”

Hermione flushed at the thought of his tongue on her again. In her.

Awkwardly, she turned around, her knees straddling his torso and looking directly down at his erection. She still couldn’t get used to having her arse in the air like this, so exposed to him. It didn’t feel comfortable. She imagined that he could see everything; her body, open and ready to be used for his pleasure. It felt wrong, and she felt dirty as she relaxed into the new position.

Merlin, she felt debauched.

And she liked it.

She was about to lower her mouth onto him when she felt his hands grip her thighs and pull her backwards with a jerk. Now she had to stretch to reach him.

She gripped him at the base. Malfoy’s prick was still wet with his saliva, and she slid her hand up and down his shaft. He moaned, the sound vibrating against her cunt. He pulled her down to his face while she swallowed him in her mouth and the two of them shuddered at the simultaneous hot, wet contact. She didn’t know how long it would take him to come but she didn’t think she would last much longer. She was already sensitive from her previous orgasm, and the anticipation of his mouth on her and his tongue inside her had brought her closer.

He was much more vocal this time around. All his grunts, moans, gasps, and unintelligible mutterings were made directly onto her lips, and it felt _fantastic_. His pelvis kept jerking, and she struggled to hold his cock in place so she wouldn’t gag. She knew that she, too, was bucking with each swipe of his tongue, but his strong hands held her still on his face. With all her movements, his tonguing wasn’t as deliberate or finessed as before, but the sounds he made and their shared pleasure as she swallowed and licked him made the experience more arousing.

Suddenly, she felt his tongue traverse a line along the length of her middle up to her anus. It paused, circled and then pressed inside. She gasped onto his shaft and nearly fell over.

Hermione looked back. “Malfoy,” she tried to make her voice stern, authoritative, but it was shaking.

He leaned his head to the side, eyebrows raised imperiously.

“Put my cock back in your _fucking_ mouth where it belongs, Mudblood.”

She growled and turned back to swallow him, scraping him lightly with her teeth on purpose.

He yelled and bucked. She smiled around his member, ready to do it again when she felt something slide inside her anus. She gasped at the sudden penetration and fell forward, her face resting on his thighs. It hurt as she stretched around his finger, and then the shame of the violation spread a heat throughout her body.

“No teeth, Granger.” His voice was low, menacing.

“Okay,” she gasped.

His finger slid slowly out of her anus. It felt good now. She didn’t _want_ it to feel good, but it did, and the lingering shame mixed with her surprised arousal created a heady cocktail. Her core clenched. He’d see that. Before she could sigh in relief, he pushed his finger in again.

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” she huffed out.

It was too much. She didn’t know if she could keep sucking him while being violated there. Part of her wanted to lay with her arse in the air to let him do whatever the hell he bloody wanted. She couldn’t imagine being debased any more than this. Having his tongue there, his finger there.

She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed his cock again, bobbing her head up and down. His finger slowly slid in and out again while his tongue flicked her clit, and she came, moaning around his shaft. Her pelvis bucked, and she tried not to scrape him with her teeth.

“Mmmmm coming!” She heard him grunt.

Malfoy’s fingers dug into her thigh and the digit inside her curled, almost pushing her over the edge again. She was ready for his orgasm this time and made sure her hand was fisted at the bottom, preventing him from gagging her. He let out a strained moan and bucked up, but she kept her mouth steady, swallowing his seed without as much of a mess this time around. She released him and looked back. His eyes were closed and his head lay back on the couch pillow, one hand laying atop his forehead.

“Better this time,” he commented breathlessly.

“Find someone who cares.”

He huffed a laugh, still breathing hard. After a few moments, he raised himself to lick her again and she shuddered. She was too sensitive. His fingers dug into the flesh of her rear and his thumb entered her cunt.

“Malfoy!” she choked out. 

For the third time, her limbs buckled and fell on his legs. She couldn’t tell exactly what was going on. His fingers were sliding in and out of both of her holes, in tandem. He was licking her, sucking her while his fingers mercilessly penetrated her. She lay on his legs, arse in the air and eyes squeezed shut. His thigh muscle was hard against her cheek. Too much was happening, and another orgasm rolled through her body. She grabbed the side of his other thigh, contracting around his fingers, and released a guttural moan. He added another finger to her anus and she cried out again more loudly. It felt _so good!_

He pulled on her, spread her, felt her on the inside, stretched her, violated her. All she could do was lie there, totally slack, and moan while he did what he wanted.

“Dirty, filthy, Mudblood.” His voice reverberated onto her lips, and she came again with a low groan, rocking forward.

Hermione didn’t know how many times he made her come while he called her names. She was a blubbering mess by the time he’d decided he was done with her. His fingers slipped out, and she shuddered at the loss, whimpering. He pushed her forward, and she fell onto her side. She rolled into the crease of the couch alongside him, boneless, her arm laying loosely over his shins. She felt drained; thoroughly used and defiled. As if all the juice had been squeezed out of her.

Naked.

Discarded.

Empty.

_Sated._

_Glorious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, this is a throwback to the website It's Always the Quiet Ones. Great website, awesome collection and I used to post there. The thing is, I never thought of Hermione as quiet. At all.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione woke with a start.

“Harry!”

She pushed herself up, bleary eyed and blinking to clear her vision. Malfoy was facing her on their common room couch, shirtless but wearing his trousers. She was naked, covered in a light blanket, and sitting on the couch with his legs extended next to her. What was going on? His grey eyes flicked up from the book he was reading, clearly amused at her confusion.

Right. His evening of blackmailed debauchery.

“Dreaming of Scarhead? Tell him to thank me for your new skill set.”

“You’re disgusting, Malfoy.” It was actually Ron that she was interested in, but there was no reason to share that information with him.

“That has been established.” He placed a ripped piece of parchment in his book and closed it.

“How long was I out?”

“Two hours.”

She blinked in surprise, then rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. He’d let her sleep, hadn’t woken her up despite the fact that his time was limited. And he’d covered her up with a blanket. She lifted the blanket and looked between her legs. He’d _Scourgified_ her as well.

She looked at the clock. Ten thirty. One and a half hours left. She looked back at him in confusion.

_Why?_

He seemed to not care anymore about using her, playing games, or the remaining time that she was still legally bound to him. He let her sleep for two hours. Would he have let her sleep the entire night?

He was studying her while she in turn, pondered his consideration of her. He was full of contradictions.

“Why are you proficient at _Obliviation_?” he asked.

She stiffened.

“I don’t have to tell you about the war,” she answered.

“But you are,” he pressed. “Good at it.” He wasn’t really asking, just confirming a fact.

She considered her reply. “More than I would have liked to be.”

She didn’t know why he was asking now. He had already agreed to be _Obliviated_ by her. Something that required an incredible amount of trust, both in her and in her magical capability. With a start, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that sooner. He couldn’t possibly believe in that blood purity tripe if he was allowing her to _Obliviate_ him in the first place. She had been so focused on protecting the secrecy of the Horcrux mission that she had entirely missed the implications of their agreement. Did he consider her to be the exception to the rule about Muggle-borns? Or had he realized that he’d been brainwashed with illogical rubbish?

While she considered her newfound insights about him, he pondered the hidden meaning behind her answer, running his thumb along the binding of his book.

At last, Malfoy’s shoulders sagged and a faint expression of relief appeared on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, swiveled around, and got up from the couch to walk towards the kitchenette. He didn’t appear in any rush to do anything else with her. Perhaps it was the heavy topic of conversation, or maybe because he’d orgasmed twice tonight and needed more time to recover. She got up and walked to the loo. He looked like he had already washed up while she was sleeping.

Hermione still felt a residual throbbing between her legs. She couldn’t _believe_ what he had done to her. Earlier in the evening, she hadn’t been expecting to orgasm even once. Now, she had no idea how many times he’d made her come. And he’d done so _after_ he had already finished in her mouth. There was no benefit that she could think of for him to make her come like that, so why…? She had protested, hadn’t wanted him to finger her arse like he did, but that last bit on the couch was purely about her pleasure. Not his at all.

Unless he had been preparing her for something else. He’d put more than one finger in her arse, after all. He had been pulling on her, stretching her. She closed her eyes and trembled at the memory, and how powerful the multiple orgasms had been.

After finishing in the bathroom, she joined him in the kitchenette and watched him make tea for the two of them.

“Checking to see if I’m spiking the pot again, Granger?”

She huffed a laugh. “It would hardly matter. You could order me to ingest a potion if you wanted.”

“Yes, I could.” He turned to her with a smirk while levitating the tea set and some biscuits over to the coffee table. “Your negotiating skills were better than I thought, but clearly you’d be in trouble if I wasn’t such a nice person.”

She rolled her eyes and followed him back to the couch. “ _Nice_ is hardly the word I would use.”

“Which word _would_ you use?” He added a spoonful of sugar and stirred it.

She settled down on the couch and looked at him in thought. “Contradictory.”

He furrowed his brows at her. “Interesting choice, considering.”

“Considering what?” She reached over for the teapot and poured herself a cup, adding sugar and milk as well.

He laid back and sipped his tea, gazing ahead at nothing in particular. “This war.”

He didn’t seem keen to elaborate. Perhaps he was referring to his changing ideology and how it manifested. Or his support of a side that was clearly harming himself and his family.

“Surprising,” he continued.

Hermione took a sip of her tea, again, floored in his consideration of her despite everything that he had done tonight. “What is?”

He turned to her. “You.”

“Well,” she answered. “You didn’t know me.”

He shook his head and laughed. “That’s not what I meant, Granger. In addition to your sexual proclivities…” She felt her core heat at his words. “You swear like a sailor.”

She put her cup down on the saucer, offended. “I do not!”

He laughed. “Have you heard the words coming out of your mouth this evening?”

Hermione huffed. “Well, that’s different! You would too if you were scared of…” She paused, and a slow smile spread across her lips.

She _had_ him.

“What?” His voice sounded uneasy.

She laughed, and then laughed again. She had been so worried about this evening but not anymore. She set her teacup down on the table and turned to him. He leaned back slightly when he saw the expression on her face.

“And that’s the other thing,” he continued. “You’re fucking scary, Granger. You can’t bring yourself to _Imperius_ me but you threaten my dick with gangrene. I’m afraid to even ask what you’re thinking right now.”

Still smiling, she asked, “Are you planning to bugger me tonight, Malfoy?”

His eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead. “Obviously.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

He looked confused at her question. “You couldn’t guess? Putting you in your place. Same as everything else we’ve done tonight. I’m also going to fuck your cunt.”

“But you don’t believe any of that. Putting me in my place.”

“So?” He didn’t even bother denying it.

“Why then?”

“It’ll feel fantastic. Remember, _you_ offered _me_ whatever I wanted. I’ll be gentle, I promise. If you think it’ll be that bad, hex my balls off and tear up the contract. You’ll definitely be screaming.” He smirked. “Just not in pain.”

A heat spread between her thighs at his words, but she had no intention of letting him bugger her. Finally, her two-fold threat would save her. He didn’t know what sex toys were. He didn’t know she could retaliate like this.

“Do you know what a strap-on is, Malfoy?”

He placed his tea cup down on the table and turned to her in cautious curiosity.

She had the little shit. She stood up so that she could tower over him for once.

Feeling heady with her impending victory, she spread her lips into a slow smile. For the first time this evening, she felt in _control._ The term was fairly descriptive, and she wondered if he had already guessed what she was referring to.

“You agreed to the two-fold limitation because you wanted me to order you around _anyway.”_ He eyed her warily, unsure of where the conversation was going. “It’s one thing to enact a dominatrix fantasy with me smacking you around a bit, but you thought I couldn’t bugger you in the arse because I don’t have the anatomy.”

His eyes widened in understanding, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob. He stood up in alarm.

When Draco got angry, she noticed that his voice got lower, softer. She was the opposite. She poked her finger into his chest as she picked up steam. To her delight, he took a faltering step _backward_.

“So, if your pathetic excuse for a prick goes somewhere I don’t want it, I’ll make sure the strap-on is two times _longer_ , two times _thicker_ , and I’ll slam it into you two times _harder_.” She punctuated each point with a jab to his chest. “Twice!” she ground out through her teeth. She closed in on him, not caring that her bare breasts were pressing against his chest. “I will, quite literally, tear you a new arsehole, Draco Malfoy!” she yelled up at him.

His jaw clenched as he stared down at her, grey eyes smoldering with desire. He looked like he was going to say something, and then changed his mind. She waited. His voice came out gravelly. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now.”

She looked down and saw that he was rock hard. Already. He was absolutely _perverse_.

She looked back up. His eyes were searing her in their intensity, and her heartbeat sped up in anticipation. She wanted him too.

“Then _fuck_ me already,” she hissed.

There was a pause, and Hermione watched his gaze shift from her eyes to her mouth. He was going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.

In the next second, Malfoy’s face lowered to hers. Their mouths met, and she immediately parted her lips for him with a whimper of longing. His tongue slithered between her lips, and she felt a burst of flame within her chest. He moaned into her mouth, and his tongue traced her teeth, tongue, and the lines of her lips.

She hadn’t known what kissing him would be like, but she’d desperately wanted to. All this time, she had been staring at his mouth, which was now sucking on her bottom lip while she gasped for air. At his tongue, which slid against hers as she threaded her fingers into his hair. At his lips, which were soft and yielding as they pressed against her skin. At his jaw, which she cupped with her hand, feeling the bones move as he slowly, powerfully claimed her mouth.

She ran one hand up his chest to cup the nape of his neck and another through his hair, gripping it hard. He moaned into her mouth and threaded his fingers into her braid, holding her head in place while he made quick work of his trouser button and zipper. She felt him kick off his trousers and boxers while he moved her head to the side, licking and sucking her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She could barely keep up with him.

His hand came back down to her rear, and he pressed his erection into her pelvis, rubbing her against him. She wanted him inside her. He kept pushing into her, forcing her to walk backwards while his hands groped, grabbed, and massaged her all over her body. She wasn’t sure where he was walking them to, and he wouldn’t let her turn her face around to see, so intent was he on kissing her.

She couldn’t think with the feel of his skin on hers, his hard muscles pressing into the softness of her body. His tall physical presence completely encased her petite one. He forced her down to the floor with his body, and she bent her knees into a crouch and then lay backwards with him on top of her. He brought his hand down between her legs and tested her slit.

Hermione pushed her pelvis toward him, wanting more, and laughed. She didn’t feel nervous about having sex for the first time. It was on her terms now. She had _won_ , and she had no doubt he would make it good for her. She couldn’t believe it, but she _trusted_ him to do so. Thinking back, he had already prepared her by getting her ridiculously wet, loosening her up by making her come, and working more fingers inside her so she would be stretched out. She could enjoy this. She _would_ enjoy this. If anything, she fucking deserved it after all he put her through.

He inserted a finger, rubbed her clit with his thumb, and she bucked up, feeling his digit curl against her, moving in and out. He rubbed her clit again, and she dug her fingers into his back, keening.

“Another?” he asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” was her breathy answer. He took out his finger and paused with the two at her entrance. He wasn’t moving. She pressed herself onto his digits but they just bent under her pressure.

“Unnnngggghghhhhh!” she growled at him. “Malfoy!”

He chuckled and inserted them while she dug her fingers into his shoulders, into his back, and grabbed him wherever she could. She wanted to feel him on top of her, against her, next to her, _inside_ her.

“ _Merlin,_ you’re fun, Granger,” he spoke into her ear.

His thumb rubbed her clit while she bucked and gasped, whimpering nonsensically. She sucked on his jaw, on his ear, on his neck - wherever she could reach.

He pushed himself up and looked down at her, removing his fingers. She whined in disappointment, and he smiled.

“Ready?”

She was.

He stared down at her, lowered his head and brushed her lips tenderly. She breathed out, trying to capture his mouth to deepen the kiss, but he raised his head again, lips quirking upward as she pouted from the loss of his mouth, slid his pelvis between her legs, and aligned himself. She spread wider to accommodate him and reached down to grab his arse. He laughed and pushed forwards towards her entrance, probing her slit. She bit her lip in anticipation and dug her fingers into his arse, trying to get him inside her.

Malfoy pressed lightly, pushing the tip in and backing out. Testing her. _Teasing_ her. He entered a bit more and pulled out again. She grunted in frustration, trying to get him inside her. She pushed her chin up, straining, and felt him enter her once more, pushing through, stretching her, filling her, all the way to her cervix. As he entered her, he let out a long, low hum which ended with a pleading grunt.

It was smooth, it was hot, and it stung, but it felt _good_. She opened her eyes and shuddered at the intensity of focus on his face. She took a moment to adjust to his girth, to his length, and then wrapped her legs around his.

“S’Okay?” His question came out like a sigh.

Hermione nodded, and he pulled out slowly and pushed back into her. She moaned and slid her fingers from his arse, over his lower back, and up his shoulders, feeling the contours of his muscles as they flexed and contracted.

His eyes were beautiful. They were pained. They were ecstatic.

He pulled out slowly and pushed in again. She stretched her legs, wrapping her feet around his calves and then pulling her limbs up again, digging her heels into his buttocks. They both gasped at the change in angle.

He propped himself up on his forearm and reached down between her legs. He thumbed her clit, and she bit her lip. She felt completely enveloped by him. His lips and his tongue lowered to her mouth again and she kissed him deeply, wanting nothing more than to explore his mouth with her tongue again. His hand was on her forehead, his body was atop her, the length of him was sliding ever so slowly inside of her, and now his fingers were pressing her clit.

She grabbed him. Everywhere she could. His hair, his jaw, the back of his neck, his shoulders. He was building her up again. His tongue penetrated her mouth slowly, deeply, again and again, in time with his cock. She couldn’t do anything more but simply receive and experience what he was doing to her. She was nearly there. She gasped into his mouth and arched, pushing her chin up and closing her eyes, but he cupped her cheek and angled her face to force her to look at him.

Hermione opened her eyes and there he was. A tidal wave of pleasure crested as his grey eyes watched her. She gasped and whimpered while her orgasm washed over her. He slid in and out of her while she contracted around him, and he grunted a moan. Slowly she came down, and his eyes fluttered shut as he lowered to kiss her again.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, trying to hold him tighter, trying to bring him closer, trying to touch every inch of his body while her tongue swiped every inch of his mouth.

He lifted himself again to look down at her, and his pelvis snapped into her once, twice. With a groan, she watched his face as he came inside her, just as he had watched hers. In that moment, Malfoy was pure. Unrestrained and vulnerable. She felt the warmth of his seed inside her, and, after a few seconds, he huffed a breath against her lips. The two of them were silent, looking at each other, breathing heavily in their afterglow. Still, he didn’t move from where he was atop her. She didn’t want him to.

The seconds ticked by, and she tenderly tucked a longer strand of his blond hair behind his ear. She felt him soften and slide out of her, slick between her legs. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be tender, caring, and intimate. She was supposed to worry about him hurting her. She was supposed to worry about him degrading her. Even if it felt good.

He lowered his head to her again and brushed his lips against hers. The gentle contact was confusing.

“Hermione?” he asked tentatively.

“Mmmmm?”

She was surprised he would address her as such. He must have felt overwhelmed by their shared intimacy as well.

He rested his head in the nape of her neck. She could feel his lips on her skin. His chest rose and fell and she felt his heart thudding against her chest. After a few moments of silence he spoke. His words were low, muffled.

“It’s this Sunday. When they come.”

She tensed. His words brought reality crashing down around her.

Sunday.

That was three days from now. It made sense. The school would be in disarray with no classes. If the Ministry was going to implement its new administration at Hogwarts, they’d meet the least resistance from the teachers when the school was unorganized. It wasn’t as if any of them were in a position to resist anyway.

He rolled off of her to lay on his back on the floor. She turned on her side to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling. Why was he telling her this?

“Draco?” His name felt foreign on her tongue.

He turned to her.

“What happened to you?”

He swallowed and turned onto his side to face her, propping his head up with his hand. He looked down between them. They each had fluids between their legs: a mixture of blood, semen, and her arousal.

“Happening,” he corrected, his voice thick. “You’ll have to _Obliviate_ more than just my memories of your bag. The Dark Lord. He’s…” He stared at her, weighing his next words. “They’re all at my home.”

She stared at him in horror, raising herself to sit cross-legged as she digested the information. She couldn’t think like this. She stood up and walked over to the couch, grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around herself, and sat back down in front of him.

Voldemort was at _Malfoy Manor_? Harry had told her that Voldemort was one of the most accomplished _Legilimens_ alive. If Malfoy was perceived as acting in a way in which his loyalty was put under question, his life would be forfeit. She felt the blood rushing in her ears at the implications of what he had told her.

He had just risked his life.

Here.

Now.

For her.

He’d blackmailed her for sex and then risked his life to ensure she’d get away and have valuable information on Voldemort’s whereabouts to boot. Not only would she have to Obliviate the notebook but most of their interactions as well. They were confusing enough to her already. They would raise alarms if he were suspected and questioned about them.

He pushed himself up and sat cross-legged before her, elbows resting on his knees. His voice shook slightly as he spoke again. “You’ll have to erase my entire memory of you here.”

As much as this arrangement between them was sick and twisted, they had gotten to know each other a lot better. And now... He wouldn’t remember any of it. Even more disheartening, he wouldn’t remember the choice he had just made to risk his life and help her. To help the Order. Hermione felt something crumple inside of her.

“That won’t work, Draco. It’s too obvious,” she explained. “They’ll know someone _Obliviated_ you and they’ll be incentivized to figure out why. They might successfully recover your memories. If it’s a botched job, they could permanently damage your mind.”

“Fuck,” he said with a harsh exhale and looked to the side.

He was a sodding prick, but she didn’t want him to die. And she didn’t want him to suffer permanent brain damage either. She reached out to take his hand. His eyes flicked up to hers again.

“I can make it work,” she said. “They only _see_ memories. They won’t know what you’re thinking or feeling in them.” His gaze shifted down to their hands; his fingers curled around hers. “I’ll remove the memories of tonight and those few times we spoke. That should be enough. It’s already known we shared a living space. You need memories of that.”

He studied her. “How can you remove the memory of me stealing your bag in the library if you weren’t there? How does that work?”

“I’ll remove the memory of the bag and everything in it. If anyone is looking at your memories from the library, they will seem benign. Any memories at all involving my bag simply won’t be there.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, deep in thought.

“Hermione?” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles and scrunched his nose boyishly, as if bracing himself for an onslaught. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say next. “There’s a bit more than your beaded bag that you need to remove.”

_What?_

She felt her heart beat hammer in her chest. He looked increasingly apprehensive as the seconds ticked by.

“Draco,” she hissed. “ _What have you done_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST COMING UP!
> 
> And feel free to leave reviews! There is no such thing as too many reviews!


	9. Chapter 9

Draco rubbed his face with his hand and glanced at the kitchenette. “Look in the duffle bag.”

 _Now_ he was opening the bag?

Hermione grabbed his wand – he didn’t protest – _Scourgified_ herself, and summoned his bag from the kitchen counter. She caught it as it flew into her lap. His duffle bag had a familiar heaviness, making her immediately suspicious. She unzipped the bag and looked inside.

What the –

No!

She opened the bag wider.

She couldn’t believe it.

“You goddamn, sodding, motherfucking, bloody piece of sh-”

“We’ve already established that cursing is an integral part of your communication skills.”

She pulled out her beaded bag and held it up to him. Her nostrils flared with a sharp, angry exhale.

“It was here _the whole time?_ ” Her voice rose with each word. She whacked the side of his arm.

He flinched and rubbed his arm. “To be fair, Granger, I did ask a few times if you wanted to look in my bag.”

“Wanker!” she yelled as she whacked him again.

“I even left you alone with it while I was in the loo!” he protested. “How was I supposed to know you’d be that bloody stubborn?”

“Have you _met_ me?” she muttered angrily.

She opened it up, eager to see if he had broken the charms on her notebook. He had, of course, and had probably read everything about their theories regarding Voldemort, what they knew about him psychologically, and the Horcruxes. She started paging through it.

Un– _fucking_ –believable.

What in the hell was going through his _head_? Hermione didn’t know if she was more upset with herself for having had the opportunity to not go through any of what they’d done tonight, or with him for placing that opportunity in reach, but not telling her.

Why?!

Why had he made her go through with any of it at all if he was willing to let her get out of their agreement? She angrily flipped through a few more pages of her notebook and saw an unfamiliar scrawl on the page where she had listed potential names for R.A.B. Pausing, she peered down at it.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” she read aloud. Her eyes snapped back to his. “Did you write that, Malfoy?” she whispered, pushing her anger aside for now.

“He was one of Mother’s cousins. I didn’t know he had betrayed the Dark Lord. It’s nice to know I’ve got some company there.” He ran his hand through his hair; it flopped right back into his eyes. “I guess that’s why he’s dead.”

She looked up sharply at him. Did he just imply that he’d betrayed Voldemort?

Hermione flipped through the notebook some more and saw an article from the Daily Prophet inserted with her notes about Slytherin’s locket. He must have put it there. It was about Dolores Umbridge and her latest legislation regarding the Muggle-born registry. In the photo, she was giving a simpering smile to a few other Ministry officials, reaching out to shake their hands and then turning back to the camera.

“Why would you put a-” She gasped at the picture and looked up at him. This was active betrayal. Draco was helping them destroy Voldemort. All the anger she felt towards him was replaced by amazement and disbelief.

“I’ve seen enough of Umbridge to last a lifetime,” he explained. “She always wears that locket. It doesn’t exactly match her extensive wardrobe of pastel pink robes.”

She went back to the beginning of her notebook and started reading more methodically, page by page, anxious to see what else Draco knew. She arrived at the transcribed pictures of the Hufflepuff cup and read in his now familiar handwriting: ‘Lestrange vault.’

“It’s at Gringotts?” she asked in disbelief. “In your aunt’s vault?”

He nodded. “Good luck getting to _that_ one.”

Once she reached the end of her notes, Hermione looked to where Draco sat across from her. He had been studying her as she read.

“You’re really going to do it,” his voice was soft, with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Aren’t you?”

“Do what?” she asked.

“Win.”

“We’re trying,” she snorted. “Umbridge… Maybe if we… But Gringotts. That’s going to… Yeah. No clue how we’re going to get in there.”

Draco motioned to his bag, a sly gleam in his eyes. “It’s not empty yet.”

Excitedly, she tossed her notebook to the side and dug around the bottom of the bag until her fingers latched onto metal. She pulled out Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem .

“Where did you find this?” she whispered, her voice quiet in disbelief.

“The Room of Hidden Things. I spent most of last year holed up there, working on the Vanishing Cabinet. I recognized it from the picture you had. I don’t know anything about the Ravenclaw bracelet though.”

“No, it’s this one. Not the bracelet,” she said. She laid the tiara down on the ground, stood up, and walked back to her room, blanket dragging behind her on the floor. “I’m nearly certain,” she called over her shoulder.

_And they were about to find out._

She quickly got dressed in her pajamas, pulling on a loose T-shirt and shorts, and strode purposefully back across the room to sit down next to him.

He leaned towards her curiously. “What are you doing?”

Hermione’s arm disappeared up to her armpit as she reached around in her tiny bag. “Hold on, I can’t quite-” Finally, her fingers latched onto the small bag of basilisk fangs. She pulled it out, tossing her beaded bag to the side.

“We’re going to destroy a piece of Voldemort’s soul.”

His jaw dropped. “What? We?”

She opened the tie of the bag, withdrew a fang, and in a burst of inspiration, smacked it into the palm of his hand.

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. But the next one will be on its heels so don't worry.
> 
> Kudos to Lady_Fairfox, she more or less called this plot twist way back in Chapter 5.
> 
> Did I manage to surprise anyone with the contents of Draco's bag? What did you think was inside?


	10. Chapter 10

“ _Me?_ ”

Draco looked at her like she had grown another head, and then down at the basilisk fang in his hand.

“Stab the diadem.”

Immediately, two ghostly visions of Malfoy’s parents burst forth, surrounded by a hazy smoke. Draco skidded back, catching himself with his hands and nearly knocking his head on the coffee table. Lucius sneered down at his son while Narcissa writhed on the ground, screaming in agony.

Draco ran to his mother with a cry and frantically cast a few shielding spells that went right through her, thudding into the rug. He tried to pull her up, but it was a vision, a projection with no substance. Uselessly, he reached down to her face, hand padding through to the floor beneath her. He turned to Hermione, terrified.

“Is this happening now? At my home?” His voice cracked in his desperation, and his body shook.

She shook her head. “He’s manipulating what he knows about you. Just do it.”

“My mother isn’t –”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just a projection.”

Lucius curled his lip in disgust and pointed at Draco, who looked up at him from the floor next to Narcissa. “It’s because of _your_ failure that she suffers and will die. You’re _weak_. You’re _pathetic_. You’re _incompetent._ Consorting with Mudbloods. You are no son of mine, _blood traitor_. I’ll deliver you personally to the Dark Lord.”

“Draco,” Hermione called, trying to make him turn away from the vision. “It’s not real. You have to ignore them.”

“Maybe it’s not real, but it’s true.” She could see the tears in his eyes.

“They’re just your fears. There’s always an element of truth to them, but that doesn’t mean it’s _all_ true.”

She took the basilisk fang from him and approached the tiara. Immediately, her parents appeared where Lucius and Narcissa had stood.

“You’ve always been a selfish, ungrateful daughter, Hermione. You abandoned us.” Her father spoke with a disdain she had never heard before. She knew that it wasn’t real, that it was just an illusion to defend the Horcrux, but it still hurt. She felt tears form in her eyes.

Her mother continued viciously. “We’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done. Thinking you’re better than us for having magic. You’re dead to us. You won’t be able to return our memories anyway. We’re better off without you.”

Tears dripped down Hermione’s face. She couldn’t help it. They may be safe, but she was terrified she’d lose them. Either because she wouldn’t be able to reverse the spell, or because they wouldn’t want anything to do with her after they’d recovered. Draco whipped his head around to see her, now understanding why she knew so much about _Obliviation_.

“See?” she sniffled, wiping her tears away. She handed him back the basilisk fang. “Voldemort’s a slightly more intelligent boggart. He exploits fears and insecurities.”

He looked at her with incredulity. “He’s terrifying, Hermione. You haven’t seen what he’s done.” He steadied himself and bent down to stab the diadem. Just then, her parents disappeared, replaced by an image of Hermione. Naked.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She turned to look down at Draco, kneeling in front of the tiara, looking as shocked as she felt.

“You think you deserve Gryffindor’s Princess after what you’ve done?” her doppelganger hissed.

“Draco,” Hermione whispered down at him. “Just do it. You don’t have to listen to it.”

He turned slowly and looked up at her, an agonized expression on his face. “Yes. I do.”

“You sniveling coward,” it continued cruelly. “Watching your teacher tortured and eaten by Nagini while you did _nothing_.”

Hermione turned to him in horror. Was the Horcrux referring to _Professor Burbage_? She’d gone missing a few months prior and there had been no news on her whereabouts. Hermione felt sick.

“You’re weak. Muggle filth were tortured in front of you. You didn’t even have the strength to put them out of their misery.”

 _Merlin._ What was going on at Malfoy Manor now? Draco was bent over, clutching his head and gritting his teeth. His body heaved a sob.

“You almost killed Katie Bell.” Her image was vicious, merciless in its condemnations. “She spent months barely alive at St. Mungo’s because of your incompetence. The Weasley blood traitor nearly choked to death because of your ineptitude. You’re completely _useless_.”

Hermione swallowed. That was true. She watched him kneeling on the floor, the accused, and her standing above him, the accuser. It was terrible. And fascinating.

“You coerced me into having sex with you. Even a Mudblood would never touch someone as pathetic as you.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. It appeared that he didn’t really believe the excuses he had been telling himself tonight.

Nothing the Horcrux said was untrue, really, and it was all coming straight out of Draco’s own thoughts and fears about himself. He knew the gravity of his decisions. He knew they were wrong, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Her doppelganger walked over to him, pointing down.

“You let murderers and rapists run free in a place with children because you were too cowardly to ask for help.”

His body heaved a sob and his hand dropped to the floor, supporting himself.

“Albus Dumbledore is dead because of you.” The voice changed from feminine to masculine, but still evil. “You started the war, but _I_ will finish it!”

Hermione watched her eyes gleam red and her figure morph into Voldemort’s.

“No one can stop me. The Order will fall apart. Because of you they are leaderless. I’ll kill your mother _anyway_ and live _forever_!” Voldemort laughed cruelly.

Hermione knelt down next to him and pulled on his arm. “Draco, he’s human. He _can_ be killed. And you’re not the same person that you were last year. These visions show that.”

Draco didn’t move, seemingly determined to wallow in self-loathing. He heaved another sob.

She tried a different tactic and turned his face to her. “Harry destroyed one of these when he was twelve. Are you going to let him show you up?”

Draco looked up, expression clearing. He narrowed his eyes at her, tightened his grip on the basilisk fang, and rammed it into the diadem.


	11. Chapter 11

There were thirty minutes left until midnight. Neither of them cared. Hermione and Draco were both physically and emotionally worn out from the evening’s events, and there was a lingering tension from knowing that their struggles weren’t over yet. The thought of _Obliviating_ him filled her with sadness after all that they’d been through together.

The two sat in silence on the couch, sipping the tea that Draco had made. He sat upright, shirtless as always, with his dark green pajama bottoms. She leaned against him, legs extended along the length of the couch. His arm wrapped around her stomach, and he absently traced patterns on her forearm with his left hand.

Hermione watched the motions of his fingers, how his knuckles bent and flexed. She wasn’t exactly sure what she meant to him, but they were infinitely closer than they had been. The sex had been disturbingly intimate, and fighting together—whether against one another or internal demons or an external enemy—always brought people closer. They had done all three.

She couldn’t sort through what she felt towards him right now. He had risked his life to betray Voldemort and help her and the other Muggle-born students at Hogwarts. But he had also blackmailed her into performing all these acts with him. Tricked her. She didn’t know what it meant that he had given her an opportunity to end the arrangement at any time. Several times directly asking her if she wanted to open the bag.

Why didn’t he just tell her? It was infuriating. He obviously knew that what he had done to her tonight was wrong. The projection from the Horcrux made that apparent.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Why _did_ you blackmail me into doing those things with you?”

He leaned over and laid his cheek on top of her head. “Honestly, Hermione, I didn’t think things would get as far as they did.”

She pushed herself off of him and swiveled around to face him on the couch. His hand fell to her thigh.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “I was screwing around with you. I was bored, and you kept ignoring me.”

“I thought you were sent to spy on me.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. That’s why I swiped that beaded bag of yours.” He took another sip of his tea. “I didn’t actually think we would do anything. I mean, I _hoped_ we would.”

He had told her he was bored and she was sexy when he had made her tea a few days ago. He must have been telling the truth back then.

“So why sign the contract at all?”

“You took it so seriously, and I played along. I know that I tricked you, but this whole evening was _entirely_ your idea. After I broke the charm on the notebook, your desperation made a lot more sense.”

“No shit,” she retorted, irritated.

He rubbed the skin of her thigh with his thumb and continued. “I was certain you’d look in my bag when I brought it out and nothing would happen. Maybe I’d tease you a bit, but you’d get your bag, get the Horcrux, rip up the contract, and I’d let you _Obliviate_ me.” He motioned to the blackened diadem. “He’d skin me alive just for knowing about this. Even if I didn’t help you.”

“But,” she said in an exasperated tone, “why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Because it was fun?” he gave her a sheepish grin, looking several years younger.

“ _That’s_ your excuse, Malfoy?”

“I had no _idea_ you were going to get so turned on. And I kept asking you if you liked it. If you wanted it. It’s not like you were upset. And you bloody told me you wanted to suck me off! I was stunned! I know you wouldn’t have done those things otherwise, but…” He stopped and rubbed his face with his hand. “I didn’t think you were going to _actually_ obey me. I was so sure you’d hex me when I told you to crawl across the floor. You could have Langlocked me so I couldn’t order you around, or stunned me until the clock ran down, and I _still_ would have had to comply with the _Obliviation_. I couldn’t have made it any _easier_ for you. Firewhisky in one hand, knickers in the other. I wasn’t holding my wand and all but _begged_ you to hex me. That’s what I would have done in your position.” He turned to her. “Why didn’t you?”

He was right. She could have. She felt so stupid. “I… I don’t know. Because it wasn’t in the spirit of the contract? I didn’t even consider it.”

“Gryffindors…” Draco shook his head in disbelief. “There was nothing in the contract that said you couldn’t. You always had that option because I let you keep your wand. And then you _didn’t_. I guess some part of me wanted to think that if you really didn’t want it you would have hexed me. I couldn’t be _lieve_ half of what was happening at the time! And then your mouth was on my cock-”

“And you just… chose not to stop any of it?” she cut him off.

Hermione felt so idiotic, but how could she have known? The stakes were high. It was a war. He was a _Death Eater_.

“You kept saying that you liked it and that you wanted it. I always asked you. Everything I did, you _wanted_ me to do! _Merlin_ , the way you grabbed me when we-”

“But I thought I _had_ to, Malfoy! You tricked me!”

“I know! I got carried away! And then,” he continued, clearly ashamed now, “I thought that if I made you mad enough you would punish me or, or hurt me. And I… I _wanted_ you to hurt me. I don’t know. I _should_ have told you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. Committing another sin so I could be punished for what I’ve done.” He set his teacup on the table and rested his elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor between his legs. “It was wrong. Things got completely out of control.”

She stared at him.

“Merlin, Malfoy. You’re a fucking prick.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Tell me about it.”

“So you didn’t plan tonight?”

“ _Fuck_ no. I _wanted_ something to happen. _Obviously._ The past few days I was too busy trying to locate the diadem. I knew that I had seen it in the Room of Hidden Things, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. And it wouldn’t respond to a summoning charm.”

After a few moments of silence, he took her hand in his and ran his thumb back and forth over her palm.

“Hermione…” His voice was raw with emotion. “I’m really sorry. I let things go too far. I should have told you.”

She stilled and waited, looking down. He squeezed her hand, and warmth diffused up her arm.

“I’m also sorry for how I’ve treated you in the past. It was wrong, it was all wrong. I won’t…” He cleared his throat. “I won’t remember this apology, but you will.” She glanced up and met his eyes, intense regret reflected back. “That will have to be enough.”

Hermione felt something crumple inside her at the thought that he wouldn’t remember apologizing to her. Her lips parted, her voice tight as she replied, “It is.”

Draco leaned down, pressed his lips to her forehead, and exhaled slowly.

She sipped her tea and they studied each other in silence. He looked like he wanted to ask her something but was holding back.

“What?”

“You _Obliviated_ your parents, didn’t you?”

She nodded wordlessly and tears formed in her eyes. “They don’t remember me. I sent them away to keep them safe. I don’t know if I’ll survive to bring them back. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to restore a memory charm that comprehensive. And even if I can, I don’t know if they’ll forgive me. I… I still don’t know if it was the right thing to do.”

A tear made its way down her cheek. Draco tentatively reached forward to wipe it away. “It was,” he whispered. “They couldn’t find your parents. They tried and came back angry.”

She nodded, feeling equal parts relief and horror. “It helps to know it wasn’t for nothing.”

He stared at her and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was afraid to say it. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Hermione?” He furrowed his brow at her and looked like he was going to choke. “I can’t lose my memories.”

She stared at him in thought. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she replied, wiping the rest of her tears away and setting her tea down on the table. “If the Order wins, your actions tonight could get you out of Azkaban. I don’t know how we would have figured out the things you’ve told me on our own.” She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I’ll give your memories from tonight to someone – they’ll be safe until this is all over.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He shook his head and turned to face her on the couch, willing her to understand. “I deserve Azkaban. But memories change a person. Last week, I wouldn’t have told you the things that I did today.” He looked at the burnt tiara on the table. “I wouldn’t have confronted the things I’ve done. If I lost my memories, I’d lose myself. Go backwards and…” He laced his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head tenderly. “I owe you my life for what you’re doing. I want to _know_ that.”

She peered into his eyes. They held a sad desperation. “Draco, that’s… I don’t think that’s true. You haven’t changed that much tonight.”

He looked insulted. “What do you mean?”

“All tonight was, this week actually, was an _opportunity_. You’ve already changed. You’re _still_ changing. You said so yourself earlier, when I asked what happened to you.”

He looked down at her toes, digging into the cushions of the couch, and he rubbed her head with his thumb affectionately, thinking about what she said.

“When did you stop believing that blood purity rubbish?” she prompted.

“Towards the end of fifth year.” He looked up at her and brought his hand down to hold her upper arm. He’d been incredibly affectionate since he’d destroyed the Horcrux. Always touching her. Stroking her. “It’s not as if the Muggle-borns at Hogwarts are all at the bottom of the class. Some do well, some are average, some do poorly. And then there’s _you_.” He said with a smirk. “For children who are supposed to be inferior, they certainly do well enough for themselves, even without knowing what magic is until the age of eleven. The whole ‘magic stealing’ narrative that Umbridge pushes is ridiculous. The more I was around her, the crazier it all started to sound.”

Hermione nodded. That certainly made sense. “If you didn’t believe it in fifth year, why did you go along with the Death Eaters in sixth?”

His eyes shifted back to hers. “Pure-blood entitlement. Politics were changing and I felt threatened. A lot of Pure-bloods did. My father was in Azkaban. I believed we were defending our property, our traditions, our way of life... Our influence, our power, our rightful place in society. I was proud to take the Dark Mark back then. I thought I was restoring honor to our family name after my father was convicted.”

“And when did you stop believing that?”

“Part way through sixth year.” He shook his head in disgust. “It’s just not worth it. We have _dungeons_ in the Manor, Hermione. And…” His eyes widened slightly, recounting memories he didn’t detail. “ _They’re all in use_. Even if I believed in that blood purity shite, I could never…” He swallowed, his pallor looked somewhat greenish. “You have to understand. Last year, I didn’t want Bell or the Weasel or Dumbledore or _anyone_ to get hurt or to die. He tortured my parents, and Aunt Bella tortured me. He was going to kill us all.”

Hermione thought back to how McGonagall had threatened him to ensure her safety.

“If I could have done sixth year over, I would not have volunteered to take the Dark Mark. Or I would have gone directly to Dumbledore. I was a prideful idiot. I just didn’t know it then, hadn’t understood the gravity of what I had gotten myself into. And then…” He took a deep breath and looked at her. Pleading with her to understand. “I didn’t know how to get out. I was trapped into finishing what I was assigned to do. All I could do was continue so he wouldn’t kill my parents. Or me.”

“And you decided on all that this week?”

Draco gave her a rueful grin. “Point taken.” She could see the change in his demeanor. He didn’t want to be _Obliviated,_ but he understood that he wasn’t losing the progress he’d made over the years.

They had better get started with this. Putting it off would just hurt more. She reached over for her beaded bag and dug an unbreakable vial out.

“I’m going to extract a copy of the memory of us discussing my notebook and destroying the Horcrux,” Hermione explained. “You won’t go to Azkaban if I can help it.”

“But you have that memory, too,” he protested.

“What if I die?” Hermione rebutted. He looked sharply to her at the suggestion, but she only shrugged. Neither of them knew what would happen.

“Who will you give it to?”

“Maybe your aunt.”

His jaw dropped and her lips quirked upwards before she clarified, “Your _other_ aunt.”

His eyebrows slowly rose in understanding and she reached for her wand. “Turn to face me.”

Draco shifted on the couch, bringing one leg up so he could face her better. Hermione steadied herself, swirled her wand in the air and muttered a few incantations, staring into his eyes. He watched her, rapt with attention. She pressed her wand to Draco’s temple and pulled gently. A silver stream was attached to her wand’s tip. She pulled more, and the air around them became luminous as the stream from his temple lengthened. She pulled until it released, falling delicately between them like a thin, translucent piece of fabric.

Hermione watched Draco gaze at the memory as it shimmered and rustled in the room’s air currents. His eyes were beautiful, reflecting the silver of his memory. Of _this_ memory in particular.

Gently, she placed the memory in the vial and muttered the charm to detach it from her wand. She capped the vial and added another anti-breaking charm for good measure before holding it up for him to see.

“Court evidence that you’ve changed.” She cleared her throat. “And are still changing.”

He pursed his lips, took the vial out of her hand, and swirled the contents around, peering into it before giving it back to her. Hermione put it into her bag and steeled herself for what she was about to do. If all went well, she would find him and restore his memories. But if not, at least he wouldn’t suffer needlessly in Azkaban. Merlin knew he’d already suffered enough.

“So…” Draco’s voice shook slightly. “Do you _Obliviate_ me now? Or wait until Sunday morning?”

She looked down at her wand and ran her finger up and down the length of the wood. “The more complex our interactions, the more difficult it becomes to perform the spell without you realizing you’ve been _Obliviated_ or someone else catching on. It’s safer to do it now. Tonight. Whenever you’re ready.”

Their eyes met, and Draco’s jaw clenched. She had _Obliviated_ her parents from behind, while they were watching the telly. They hadn’t known what she was going to do, and she hadn’t had to look at them when she did it. She knew it’d be easier that way now, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Draco to turn away. Not when he knew what was going to happen.

Pressure grew in her chest. The air thickened between them, and her mouth went dry. She looked into his eyes and found Draco staring at her, as if he was memorizing the planes of her face. She didn’t know if she could do it while he was looking at her like that. So desperate and wanting.

And then Draco spoke, his voice low and gravelly, just like when he’d told her how much he wanted her. “I don’t want to forget how I know you, Hermione. I wish we had more time.”

Her lips parted. “I feel the same. If we’re still alive when this is over, I promise I’ll return your memories.” She tried to swallow, but her throat caught. “Ready?”

“No.” Draco’s voice came out broken. He swallowed. “Do it anyway.”

She raised her wand and looked him, willing herself not to cry, and began the spell. She left the surreptitious glances, the silent hours spent in the common area, and him traipsing back and forth in his towel. She tried to collect the memories that counted. He looked desperate and anxious. She couldn’t think while he stared at her like that, so she let her eyes flutter closed.

She imagined when he’d stood over her looking at her work, flirting with her and making her tea, and she waved her wand. She focused on her beaded bag, on the Horcruxes, on her research, and on the tiara, and waved her wand again. She remembered their confrontation: when she’d accused him of stealing her bag, the negotiation over the contract, and his almost kiss from yesterday.

And finally, she imagined everything that had happened this evening: the flirting, the banter, the teasing, the anger, the confessions, the memories that brought a flush to her face and a pool of desire between her legs, destroying the Horcrux. Everything up until now.

She waved her wand again.

Hermione opened her eyes and was immediately fixed in place by Draco’s bright grey stare. It was a mistake to do so. He was apprehensive and despairingly sad, and she felt her chest constrict. Tears began to collect and burn in her eyes. She felt one fall over her lower lid and continue on a hot path down her cheek.

She pointed her wand at him and choked out with a sob, “ _Obliviate!_ ”

Draco flinched but held her gaze. She saw him sway, tentative for a moment, before reaching out, pulling her against him, and pressing his lips to hers. It was a last, heart wrenching, desperate kiss that she knew he wouldn’t remember. He gasped into her mouth and reached with his tongue. He dug his fingers into her arm and the back of her head. She opened her mouth and fisted his hair. They clung to each other, their tongues reaching out, stroking, needing, wanting. She tasted the salt from her tears and held him tight. His breathing was harsh and ragged. She panted from the ferocity of his kiss and he shuddered in her arms.

Hermione felt the precise moment the spell took effect. Draco’s hands went slack, and his mouth moved slowly, unsure. He pulled away. He was dazed and furrowed his brows at her.

He wiped tears from his eyes and looked at the wetness on his fingers, slightly perturbed. “Granger?” his voice was soft. Confused.

She squeezed his other hand affectionately. He looked down as if he couldn’t understand what her hand was doing there with his. She got up, collected her things, gave him a soft kiss on his cheek, and walked back to her room before he came to his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew it was coming...
> 
> And thank you for the reviews. They are so nice to read!


	12. Chapter 12

Draco eyed Granger where she sat on what had quickly become ‘her’ couch. Not having much else to do these past few weeks, he had tried to goad her by walking around in a towel and leering at her. She was obviously attracted to him but continued to completely ignore him, seemingly unbothered by his behavior. It was infuriating. Lately, she’d stayed away from their common room entirely.

But now she was back, and he wondered what the hell she was still doing at Hogwarts. He had assumed she’d leave after doing whatever it was that she needed to do here.

Did she have a death wish?

The Carrows and a few other choice Death Eaters were arriving tomorrow evening to implement the Ministry’s new educational reforms. He didn’t know what exactly would change, but clearly Granger would be a target under the new system. He had seen the Carrows torture Muggles and Muggle-borns at the Manor. What would stop them from doing that to her? Or to any of the other Muggle-born students, for that matter?

Draco didn’t know exactly why she was here, or what she was working on, but he didn’t think she would actually be stupid enough to stay for the impending transition. She must know it was coming.

So why was she still here?

He fidgeted in the armchair, finally resting his elbows on his knees. He couldn’t figure out what he should do. Would the Dark Lord know if he warned her? He hadn’t had to put Snape’s lessons to use yet and didn’t know if he’d be able to guard his thoughts and memories well enough. But what if the Dark Lord never found out? Why would he care, anyway? He wouldn’t know what to look for. And even if Draco was asked about Granger, maybe he was a proficient enough Occlumens at this point.

Regardless, he didn’t think he could stomach someone else he knew being killed or maimed if he could prevent it so easily. He’d have to take his chances. Decided, he stood up and walked over to her.

Granger looked up from her book, and Draco was taken aback by her expression. They hadn’t spoken to each other at all this year, but her brown eyes looked surprisingly affectionate, if a bit sorrowful. A distracted part of his mind registered that she was quite pretty with her hair pulled back in a plait.

“Yes, Malfoy?”

She bit her lip, looking like she was about to cry. Maybe the war had started to affect her and her friends and family as well. He had heard about the attack on the Weasel wedding this summer. And there had been other targets, including her parents. Muggle-borns, blood traitors, and non-compliant Ministry officials—all were fair game under the new regime.

All the more reason to tell her.

He sat down on ‘her’ coffee table and ran his hand over the back of his neck, unsure of how to start.

“Granger…” Simple was often best. “They’re coming.” He flicked his eyes up to her. Her expression didn’t change. In fact, she didn’t look surprised at all. “They’re coming tomorrow evening.”

Why wasn’t she saying anything? Did she already know?

“You have to tell McGonagall so that you can get the other Muggle-borns out. You’ve got a bit more than a day and a half to do it.”

She sniffed and nodded her head, wiping at a tear that had slipped down her cheek. Why wasn’t she reacting? She must already know. But how?

“Granger, did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Malfoy, I did. Thank you for telling me.”

She sighed and looked up at him. It was unsettling. Her eyes were soft, like she cared about him. What was going on?

“This isn’t fair to you,” she continued, starting to collect her books slowly. “I’ll tell McGonagall to announce that the students have already been evacuated.”

He didn’t think he’d heard correctly. “What? Wait – they’re already gone?” They must have anticipated the move and acted early. That was good, but what did she mean by _not fair to him?_ Something was off with her.

“Yes, we knew. We moved them yesterday in secret. But,” she looked up to him. “I don’t think there’s much point in keeping it a secret now.”

“Granger, stop! What do you mean by _not fair_ _to me?_ ”

She stood up, packing the last of her books into her satchel. “I’m going to leave now. I can’t do much more here anyway.”

Something was wrong. He didn’t understand. Draco stood up, grabbed her arm, and turned her to face him. He expected her to yell at him, but she didn’t. She looked down at his hand on her arm, again, unsurprised. As if she’d anticipated his touch. As if she was _familiar_ with it.

Something had happened. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Granger,” he demanded, his voice rough with annoyance. “What the _fuck_ is going on? _What did you mean_?”

She cleared her throat and looked up at him. “This is the fourth time you’ve warned me and the others to leave the castle in the past day and a half. I’m just going to leave now. It’s not fair to you. I’ll leave my bedroom door open so you can see that I’ve left.”

The fourth time he’d warned her? Draco didn’t remember warning her once, let alone _three times_. A sick sensation of unease settled in his stomach as he realized what must have happened.

“You _Obliviated_ me?”

Granger nodded slowly, sadly. “So that you won’t have a memory that can be used against you.”

He recoiled a step, feeling like he’d been slapped in the face. He was somewhat relieved in that no one would know, but also shocked that she had done that to him. And angry.

“Three times?” She nodded again. He couldn’t keep the building rage out of his voice. “So you thought you’d mess with my head for my own good? What right did you have, Granger?”

She took a deep breath. Her eyes were so sad; it was hard to hold onto his anger. “You wanted me to. Because Voldemort might see what you’ve done when you go home.”

Draco flinched. No one was supposed to know the Dark Lord was at the Manor. He must have told her. No wonder he’d asked her to get rid of his memories; he’d be tortured and killed if anyone found out he’d said anything.

Hermione drew her wand, and Draco felt his heart speed up. She was going to do it again. Instinctively, he reached for his wand.

She looked up at him. “It’s your choice, Draco. It always is. I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”

She spoke with a familiarity he didn’t feel towards her. Clearly there was more she wasn’t telling him. He pressed her wand arm down.

“Granger, wait. What else happened?”

To his horror, he saw a few more tears fall from her eyes and felt an urgent desperation to know. She shook her head. “It’s a long story. There’s no point in telling you now. When this is over, if I can, I promise I’ll remove the charm and restore your memories. You didn’t want to have them. For your own safety.”

He believed her.

_Shite._

Draco was going to let Granger remove his memories. A brief moment of panic overcame him. He felt like he was about to jump off a cliff.

“Alright.”

He watched another tear leave her eye as she raised her wand to him.

“It’s been humbling, watching you struggle with yourself, Draco. I hope we’ll meet again in better circumstances.”

He didn’t know what she was referring to, but a surge of warmth spread within him at her praise. Draco stared down the length of her wand and braced himself as if for impact.

“ _Obliviate_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To paraphrase from one of you lovely readers:
> 
> Dramione: come for the smut, stay for the angst. 
> 
> Two part epilogue coming up next.


	13. Epilogue - Part 1

Draco sat in the defendant’s chair in Courtroom Seven and eyed his parents dejectedly. His trial was about to commence, and he was the last of the Malfoy family to be judged.

His father had been sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban earlier that day. All things considered, it could have been worse, but their defense attorney was excellent—the best money could buy. His father wouldn’t die in prison. He’d be changed, yes, and would age considerably, but he’d live. He’d survive. With good behavior, he could receive visitors and be transferred to a less secure part of the prison over time. All in all, Lucius was lucky; some of the other Death Eaters had received life sentences.

Thanks to Potter’s testimony, his mother had been sentenced to house arrest followed by a period of probation. Draco was incredibly relieved, and had been shocked to hear that Narcissa had lied to the Dark Lord’s face at the final battle. She was a much braver person than he was.

After all that had happened up until now, Draco didn’t really care what they did to him so long as his parents were safe. He wasn’t sure what sentence he’d receive, but whatever they gave him, he knew that he deserved it. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, and stared down at his standard, prison issue boots. He shifted in his seat as the Wizengamot prosecutor spoke, his manacles and chains clinking gently. He had been half-heartedly listening to the prosecutor list his crimes. He knew them all by heart. It was accurate. None of it exaggerated.

“Witness for the defense: Harry Potter.”

Draco looked up, surprised, and watched Potter approach the stand. To his shock, Potter spoke about how the Malfoys had been under duress, and how Draco’s actions in sixth year were motivated by threats to his and his parents’ lives, as well as fear of torture. Draco had no idea how Potter knew all this. He continued, going on to explain how Draco lied to his aunt to protect the identities of the Golden Trio when they were brought to the Manor by Greyback and Scabior.

Draco was taken aback. When considering that day at the Manor, he’d thought himself cowardly, not knowing what he could have done to help them without exposing them all to more torture and death. They’d been outnumbered, and so he had stood by while Bellatrix Crucio’d and carved up Granger. But Potter seemed to think these actions provided a worthy defense.

Potter spoke more about Draco refusing to turn him in to the Dark Lord during the attack on Hogwarts. Again, he didn’t really see how any of this mattered; it wasn’t as if he had actually fought back. But he could see that the courtroom was not unaffected by Potter’s testimony. Potter _was_ the Chosen One, after all, and Draco was thankful for whatever leniency it would grant him.

Amazed, he watched Potter walk back down to sit among the observers. He sat between Granger and Weasley, caught Draco’s eye, and nodded. Bemused, Draco shifted his eyes over Potter’s companions. The Weasel was ignoring him, but Granger stared at him intently. Draco looked down at his feet. All he could see was her screaming on his drawing room floor. He scraped some of the dirt that had accumulated in prison while he’d awaited trial out from under his fingernails.

“Witness for the defense: Luna Lovegood.”

For the _defense_? They had kept her in the Manor dungeons.

Luna stepped up to the stand, smiling at him and wiggling her fingers in a friendly wave. His jaw dropped. Someone in the courtroom laughed, then coughed loudly to cover it up.

After settling herself down, she described how Draco had ensured to the best of his ability that she was comfortable and well fed, and had kept her cell clear of Wrackspurts. He’d healed the wounds she had sustained after her capture and had occasionally spent some time talking with her so she wouldn’t be isolated, bringing her books to keep her mind occupied. She concluded by saying that if he hadn’t reached out the way he did, she would have gone loony. That prompted a laugh from Weasel, but it stopped abruptly when Granger reached around Potter to yank on his ear. Ollivander was called to the witness stand next and told a similar tale.

Again, Draco watched the proceedings in disbelief. It wasn’t as if he’d set them _free._ He’d just prevented them from going barmy and made sure they weren’t malnourished when he was home from Hogwarts. It wasn’t much of anything. Surely, the Wizengamot representatives would agree with Draco’s own assessment of his cowardice - but once again, the courtroom was not unaffected by these revelations. Draco looked over at his mother and saw silent tears streaming down her face. She gave him a sad, warm smile. His father looked exhausted and broken.

“Witness for the defense: Hermione Granger.”

Draco looked up sharply.

What?

Did watching someone get tortured now constitute a defense of character?

She fixed her gaze on him and walked up to the witness stand. She sat down, and his defense attorney began to question her.

“To the best of your ability, please describe how the accused aided in destroying Voldemort.”

He jerked to sit upright, chains clanking on the ground. _Aided in destroying the Dark Lord?_ He looked over at his parents questioningly. They seemed just as confused as he was. He shifted his gaze to Potter and Weasley. Potter was studying him. Weasley had his hands balled into fists and was staring at the ground. But neither appeared to be surprised.

The _fuck?_

He turned back to Granger and listened as she described a series of events of which he had no recollection. She started by explaining how he had repeatedly warned her of when the Ministry planned to take over Hogwarts so that she and the other Muggle-borns could safely escape, and how he’d told her that the Dark Lord was hiding out at Malfoy Manor. She went on to explain how he had helped the Trio locate three Horcruxes, and had even destroyed one of them.

Draco’s parents looked at him in shock. He stared back, just as clueless. There were some rumblings and mutterings in the courtroom, and the Chief Witch had to rap her gavel to quiet everyone down.

“Order in the courtroom please, or I will have to silence you all.”

The rumblings died down to a few hushed whispers.

Draco didn’t understand. None of that had happened. If he’d done any of what Granger had described, he would have been tortured and killed. And possibly his parents, too. Was she lying for him? Why would she do that?

Unless… Unless he didn’t know what he had done. Didn’t _remember_ what he had done. He suddenly understood. He looked back at Granger.

She had _Obliviated_ him.

As if in confirmation of his thoughts, she continued to explain how she had removed his memories not just once, but _three more times_ after he repeatedly warned her and the other Muggle-born students to leave Hogwarts.

A courtroom aide came forth with a Pensieve and vial containing a silvery substance.

“Submitted as court evidence, a memory taken from the accused prior to his _Obliviation_ by Miss Hermione Jean Granger.”

Draco felt hot and cold, warring emotions threatening to burst from his chest. He felt excited but also full of dread. He was about to see himself doing something that he would never have conceived possible. It made him feel not in control of himself, his thoughts or his actions. 

The court aide poured the vial’s silvery contents into the Pensieve and charmed it to project onto the air above. Draco clutched his chair’s armrests nervously and looked over at Granger. She gave him an encouraging smile. An expression that he never would have imagined could be directed at him by her. He looked back at his parents. Their eyes were transfixed on the projection.

The memory was still, the figures emerging from the mist frozen and unmoving. He and Granger were sitting on the floor across from each other - was that the Heads’ common room? She was undressed and wrapped in a blanket, but he was completely naked.

Draco’s eyes bulged as gasps erupted in the courtroom.

_What?_

It was like he was watching a completely different person. A stranger in his own skin. His genitals were blurred for modesty’s sake, and Granger was covered with that blanket he remembered from their Common Room, but it was obvious they were both completely starkers.

Had they… Had they had _sex_ during the time she was at Hogwarts? He stole a glance at her. She shrugged at him affectionately.

His eyes flicked back to Potter and Weasley. Potter looked sullenly up at the projection while Weasely observed the memory with barely concealed rage. The court aide swished his wand, and the memory began. He watched Granger page through the notebook that she’d always been writing in. Draco had considered swiping that notebook and beaded bag from her.

His brow furrowed.

Maybe he… _did?_

Granger asked him a question in the memory and he replied. “I’ve seen enough of Umbridge to last a lifetime. She always wears that locket. It doesn’t exactly match her extensive wardrobe of pastel pink robes.”

The courtroom tittered, but he continued to watch, rapt in attention. He saw Hermione continue to page through her notebook.

“It’s at Gringotts? In your aunt’s vault?”

“Good luck getting to _that_ one.”

Again, some laughter. By now, everyone knew about the famous Gringotts break-in and dragon riding break-out. He remembered reading about it in the _Daily Prophet_. Unbeknownst to him at the time, _he told her to go there_.

He watched himself converse with Granger some more, and then she pulled the tiara from the Room of Hidden Things from his Quidditch duffle bag. His lips parted in disbelief. He had given Granger a _Horcrux_. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was entirely surreal.

Draco watched himself speak with her. It was strange, seeing how intimate and familiar they were with each other. There was clearly a lot she had _Obliviated_ from him that wasn’t shown here. It appeared they’d had sex, as evidenced by their state of undress, but their body language hinted at something more intimate than a quick shag. Watching the two people converse in the memory, it was obvious that their relationship was more complex than a one-off. Draco felt a sense of loss at not knowing what had happened, or how they’d gone from silent appraisal to this.

In the memory, Hermione disappeared and returned dressed in pajamas. The events escalated quickly from there, when she slapped a basilisk fang into his hand. He watched as the ghostly apparitions of his parents appeared, his mother screaming on the ground. He winced and reflexively looked back at her to reassure himself that she was safe. He watched Granger explain to him that the Horcrux was projecting his worst fears, confirmed when he saw Granger’s own parents rebuking her in turn.

“See? Voldemort’s a slightly more intelligent boggart.”

In the present, he heard Potter bark a laugh.

Her parents were replaced by a vision of her. Naked, but with her nudity blurred for the courtroom. The vision stood and berated him as he cowered, naked and kneeling on the floor before her. She recounted his sins, much like the prosecutor had earlier today, but it was more vicious. Personal. Draco froze.

Wait a minute.

It said he had _coerced her into having sex with him_.

He gripped the armrests tightly, digging his fingers into the wood, and watched himself kneeling before her, sobbing while everything he knew he had done, everything he hated about himself, was thrown in his face. By her. Then the vision changed into the Dark Lord. It continued to taunt him.

He watched Granger—the real Granger—crouch next to him, trying to encourage him to act, to not let his past sins prevent him from acting in the future.

“Harry destroyed one of these when he was twelve. Are you going to let him show you up?”

Draco’s jaw dropped for the second time that day as he watched himself destroy one of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes. He was still sobbing and naked as the Horcrux vision finally disappeared. Granger hugged him, stroked his hair, and planted a gentle kiss on his temple. The memory ended on a still of that image, and then the projection stopped.

The courtroom was silent. He couldn’t believe what he had seen. His father looked at him, open-mouthed in shock. His mother held a hand over her mouth, tears still streaming down her face.

He had helped the Golden Trio take down Voldemort. He had told them where two Horcruxes were located and had brought them another, which he had then destroyed. Well. _That_ would certainly change his sentence.

His heart thudded in his ribcage.

According to the Horcrux, he had also coerced Granger into having sex with him.

The prosecutor latched onto that right away.

“Request permission to add sexual assault to the accused’s list of offenses.”

His defense attorney stepped in immediately, obviously expecting this reaction. “Miss Granger has already indicated that the Horcrux lied. She will not press charges.”

Draco glanced over at her. Granger didn’t look him in the eye this time as she stepped down from the stand. He sensed that she was covering something up, and he shifted his gaze to Potter and Weasley. From the looks on their faces, she was _definitely_ hiding something. He hated not knowing what happened, and he wondered when she would be able to restore his memories. If she even could.

It was unsettling enough already, finding out that he didn’t remember doing things that had aided in his defense and helped him repent for his past sins. It made him sick to his stomach to think that he had done something terrible to Granger, especially after he’d seen her get tortured, and with everything she had just done for him.

She had offered him a chance at redemption. _She_ could have destroyed the Horcrux, but she let him do it instead. What greater gift could one person give?

Draco was beyond ashamed. He couldn’t meet her eyes. With the way she had been looking at him today, clearly she cared about him on some level, but he was certain that he didn’t deserve it.

The rest of the proceedings passed in a blur. Draco barely glanced up to watch as closing remarks were presented both by the prosecutor and his defense attorney. Dimly, he registered the Wizengamot representatives exiting the courtroom to confer, and then re-entering after a short length of time. The Chief Warlock stood, and his sentence was declared.

Six months of probation.

Not even house arrest.

Draco wished he could be happy, but he felt undeserving. The deeds that had saved him today didn’t seem like they belonged to him, but rather like he was taking credit for the work of another. His victory was hollow, unearned. But even if he could feel pride in helping the Trio take down the Dark Lord, it would have been tainted by what he’d done to Granger.

He heard his mother crying softly in relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Just kidding. Second part coming after the weekend.
> 
> For those that hoped Draco would run off with Hermione, I’m nearly finished with a ~200K war AU fic where he decides to spy for the Order. Slow burn, enemies to lovers, snark, smut, and adventure - the whole shebang. Hopefully! It needs a thorough work over but I hope to start posting chapters within 2-3 months, depending on how productive I am. If you subscribe you’ll get notifications when it goes up.
> 
> Kudos to Storycat9 she more or less predicted this chapter.


	14. Epilogue - Part 2

Hermione took a deep breath and threw Floo powder into the Ministry fireplace.

“Malfoy Manor, library.”

She entered the Floo and stepped out onto a posh green rug, brushing the soot off her shoulders. She looked around the gorgeous library, turning a full circle in amazement. She eyed large windows and winding shelves filled with tomes, new and old. They covered walls which looked to be at least two stories high, possibly three. The library wasn’t as large as Hogwarts’, but it had a spiraling, circular staircase which added a sense of whimsy. The ceiling was painted with images of what appeared to be several Malfoy ancestors and a dragon. Entranced, she peered around and noticed an extensive reference collection pertaining to-

“Told you,” said a deep male voice off to her left.

She jumped, not having noticed Draco and Narcissa Malfoy sitting on a small settee, watching her the whole time. He smirked at his mother, who chuckled in response.

“Your reputation precedes you, Miss Granger.” Narcissa stepped forward, thin and graceful, to offer Hermione her hand. “Welcome to our home. We are humbled by your visit and can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

Harry had told her that he was invited to lunch here tomorrow. She wondered if Luna and Ollivander would also be coming at some point.

Hermione reached out to shake her hand and snuck a glance at Draco. He was much cleaner than when she had seen him during his trial last week, though he still seemed unsure of himself. Unsure of her. Almost shy. She had never known Draco Malfoy to be shy about anything, least of all her.

“Thank you, Madam Malfoy. It’s nothing. I don’t want anyone punished undeservedly.”

Narcissa brought Hermione’s hand up to her chest and covered it with her other hand. Her blue eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “It is _not_ nothing. What you did means _everything_. Draco and I are forever in your debt.”

In that moment, Hermione saw the woman who lied unflinchingly to Voldemort’s face, all for the love of her son. Again for Draco’s sake, she simply tossed aside decades of indoctrination regarding blood bigotry as if it were nothing. The expression of Narcissa’s devotion was powerful to be in the presence of. Hermione nodded and swallowed around the lump in her throat.

“Of course.”

Narcissa released her hand and stepped back, looking between the two of them with a small smile. “I’ll give you two some time alone. Lunch is in an hour.”

She turned around, squeezed Draco’s upper arm, and walked down a corridor, the footfalls of her heels echoing behind her.

Hermione and Draco faced one another and spoke at the same time.

“Granger, did I force you to-”

“Draco, do you want me to-”

They each stopped speaking.

Draco looked like he was ready to crawl out of his skin. His bright grey eyes were apprehensive, searching her face for answers. He was wary of finding out exactly what he had done to her, but willing to face the consequences.

Hermione wanted to take his hand and reassure him that it would be okay, that they had discussed it and she had forgiven him, but he wouldn’t remember that familiarity. He wouldn’t be comfortable with her touch.

“Should I return your memories now? That will answer all of your questions.”

He pursed his lips in thought and studied her. “That would probably be best.”

Returning memories wasn’t pleasant, but this was child’s play compared to what her parents had gone through. They’d had to be sedated in St. Mungo’s, with their memories returned in stages while they recovered. Thankfully, they were fine now after several harrowing weeks.

Hermione reached for her wand; Draco tensed. She could tell how hard and awkward it was for him to trust her.

And yet he was.

“It’s intense when the memories rush back,” she explained, also somewhat nervous herself. She didn’t know if he would regard her in the same way he did nearly a year ago. “It’s overwhelming at first, but will subside after a few minutes. You’ll be okay.” She took a steadying breath and raised her wand. “Ready?”

“No.” Draco’s voice came out broken. He swallowed. “Do it anyway.”

Hermione tilted her head in recognition of his phrasing. Those were his exact words before he agreed to be _Obliviated_ **.**

She focused on the memories she removed and waved her wand.

“ _Finite Incantatum!_ ”

Draco’s eyes widened in shock. He grunted, and his legs buckled. She reached out to offer him a hand, and he took it. She cried out as he clutched harder, hurting her fingers. His wrist trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, taking her upper arm for support. Hermione winced as his fingers dug into her bicep. She staggered under his weight, attempting to brace herself as he leaned into her.

Suddenly, he released her and fell to his knees with a thud. She holstered her wand and tried to help him stand back up, but instead he bent his head, pressing his face against her thigh and wrapping his arms around her legs. He sucked in a lungful of air with a shuddering gasp.

“Hermione,” he croaked.

She knew that the memories would be extremely vivid. He was experiencing them all at once, as if they were all happening right now. It was powerful and confusing as his brain began to sort through them, cataloguing them chronologically, providing context and perspective. He squeezed her and shook.

“It will pass, Draco.”

She stroked his hair while he held her, his grip tightening. She could see him clenching his jaw, gritting his teeth, his body shaking. After a few minutes, his trembling dissipated, and he slowly released his grip on her legs. Draco turned his face up to look at her, grey eyes shining. His chin dug into her waist. She cupped his face tenderly, and he leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. She watched him breathe in measured breaths, nostrils flaring. Slowly, he opened his eyes again. She offered her hand, and he took it, more gently this time. He rose to stand before her with some difficulty.

“Are you okay?” she asked tentatively. He towered over her now, but had none of the swagger she was familiar with.

Draco rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, laughing mirthlessly. “I don’t know. Am I?” He turned his eyes toward her with a half grin, pondering the question. “After everything I’ve done?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and looked up at him with a small smile.

“That’s for you to figure out now, isn’t it?”

\---------------------fin-------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed everyone’s comments SO MUCH whether they were in English, Portuguese, Polish or French. 
> 
> Honestly I’m not sure what was more fun: making everyone laugh about silver orbs and small Arithmancy problems, or making everyone cry with the kiss and multiple Obliviations. 
> 
> Regardless, you all were AWESOME readers. Part of the joy of writing this story was interacting with all of you. And I can’t believe this ficlet passed 750 kudos. WOW! THANK YOU!
> 
> I know the ending is somewhat open ended. If the inspiration hits I may do another epilogue or alternate ending/chapter where Hermione follows through with the two-fold threat (that's how I originally decided to write the story but changed my mind). If you've got any ideas feel free to share them. I may take a break from the war AU to return to this fic.
> 
> I have another two stories posted if you’d like to read more by me while you wait for the war fic, I may post previews for those fics as additional chapters: 
> 
> A Dish Best Served Cold which is a smutty, fluffy whodunit, more dub-con
> 
> They All Taste the Same which is a dark, vampire dramione with two diverging plot lines


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